Something Tangible
by 50-CG-AS-fan
Summary: AU. This is an original love story about two real people with real problems, overcoming their pasts—with echoes of Ana and Christian that Fifty Shades fans will enjoy. Ana is newly single and starting life over, while Christian is a wealthy playboy who loves his solitude. Both harbor painful secrets. They clash, but as always opposites attract in this sexy, slow-burning love story.
1. Chapter 1: BAGGAGE

_**Author's Note/Warning**_ _: Like the intro says, this is actually an original book I'm writing, not a traditional fanfic based on Fifty Shades. This is a slow-burning love story about two real people with real issues finding romance and redemption. There are "shades" :) of Christian Grey in the main character and if you like my other Fifty stories, I think fans will enjoy this, so that's why I'm posting it here (the character gets more Christiany as the story progresses). But this is AU, so you won't see other Fifty characters, their backstories are different and even the names of the two leads are different in my original version (you can view that on my Wattpad site)._

 _For the patient readers, there will be plenty of steamy, bossy sex scenes, but no BDSM. There is also lots of romance, flirting, witty dialogue and even some politics for the news junkies. But the plot is underpinned by mature themes — divorce, death, depression, class issues and infertility. This is a personal story based on real experiences and really imperfect human beings, so please be kind in your criticism. But feedback is definitely encouraged. Story is completed so you won't be left hanging. Here's a slightly more detailed synopsis:_

 _Ana is starting over after losing the loves of her life — husband, pregnancy and job (not to mention her dignity) — while Christian is a hedge fund manager/consummate bachelor/all-around prick whose only loves in life are his solitude and ambition. But Ana hasn't lost her no-BS spirit. Feisty yet flawed, she stands up to Christian's cockiness and cracks through his business-like demeanor, while he breaks down her walls of resistance to give them both the fresh start they desperately need and deserve. ENJOY!_

 **CHAPTER ONE: BAGGAGE**

The large, beat-up plastic bag was bursting with medicine she didn't need: antihistamines even though she didn't have allergies, cough drops from 1989 and anti-diarrhea pills that were only slightly less out of date. The hypochondriac in her had stuffed an entire medicine cabinet in a stretched-out baggie but hadn't packed anything tangible for a trip halfway around the world. Even after rummaging around in the bathroom for 30 minutes she still hadn't gotten around to the toiletries.

"Crap," Ana muttered, frowning at the empty suitcase that mocked her. She had always picked out her own outfits for vacations, but it was her detail-oriented husband who neatly arranged them in the suitcase so that every sweater and sock fit like a jigsaw puzzle.

She was not very good at folding. Or laundry. Or cooking. Or cleaning up. Or being a wife for that matter, she thought uncharitably.

A decade of marriage — and the luxury of a loving husband who spoiled her lazy — was a hard lesson in inadequacy. She had given him plenty in return for her lack of domesticity: wit, honesty, passion, partying, traveling and the beauty of growing into adulthood together. Ana and Jose met young and were together a total of 16 years, most of them good — until suddenly they weren't and there was no recovering from it.

They'd endured their fair share of traumas — lost pregnancies, lost jobs, mounting debt and a litany of health problems. The string of bad luck would've tested any couple but not necessarily broken them. Yet adversity changed her, and not always for the better. Ana begrudgingly accepted the changes, unlike her husband, who clung to a wife that only existed in his memory.

She always wondered what would possess couples who'd been together 30, 40, 50 years to get a divorce. _Why bother at that point?_ But now Ana came to the conclusion that dawns on anyone who's muddled through a failing relationship: It's better to be alone than with someone you _once_ loved. The pain of a bad marriage is unrelenting. It hits you when you least expect it and weighs you down all the other times. It twists you into someone you're not.

"Starting over sucks," the petite, discombobulated brunette mumbled to herself. _What an epiphany Ana. Maybe you should get a job writing sympathy cards. At least then you'd have a job._

Her career — yet another part of her identity she lost. Ana had managed a small but respectable newspaper that reported on world affairs and politics from D.C., working her way up the ladder since joining the family-owned company straight out of college. She got to call the shots, travel, go to lavish receptions and do one of the few things that made her proud of her achievements.

She also grew complacent in a fast-paced industry that was leaving print journalism behind. Before she knew it, her newspaper was going under — another casualty of the digital revolution — and her job prospects had stalled. Ana found herself trying to decipher the HTML coding she once dismissed as irrelevant to her job and struggling to hop on the blogging bandwagon alongside 20-year-olds who had more energy and skills than she did.

She was 35, no husband, no kids, no money, no career, no tech savvy and apparently no clue how to pack a simple suitcase.

The first step might be to tackle the laundry, she thought, looking at the heap of dirty clothes piled next to the barren suitcase. _Whoever said it's the little things in life that make you happy sure as hell wasn't talking about laundry._

Ana tried to view her fresh start, and the daily drudgery that came with it, as something liberating — a chance to prove to everyone that the woman who could barely boil water could live on her own. But at the moment, staring at the mountain of clothes that loomed large in front of her, independence felt like a chore.

A ringing phone gave Cinderella just the excuse she needed to avoid her chores for a bit longer.

"Hey Kate," she answered, excited to talk to the one mutual friend she'd kept during the separation. Everyone else had migrated to her more easygoing, less complicated husband.

"How's the packing?"

"Getting there," she lied. _As in I'll get there before it's done._ "How are you? I'm glad you called. You're the only who doesn't just text. I feel like I'm in high school again talking on the phone — a cell phone, not a landline, but still."

"I figured you needed a break from the packing." _Is it still considered a break if you haven't started?_

"Haven't started yet have you?" Her friend was always a keen observer.

"Nope. Times like these the selfish bitch in me rears her head and I miss being married."

"So that you still had a butler?" Kate interjected. She was afflicted with the same foot-in-mouth disease that ailed Ana.

"So that I had still had my best friend," she corrected her, though Kate wasn't far off from the truth. "Besides," Ana sighed, "he may have been the butler, but I was the basket case in the relationship. And in my defense we _were_ best friends. He was a good man who tolerated me."

"Cut that blame crap. How many times has your psychiatrist told you to stop beating yourself up? You both had a shit ton of issues. I knew you both remember? I can be honest — you don't pay me," she quipped.

"I should. You listen more than my overpaid psychiatrist does."

"Well you're broke, so I'll take a rain check. Even unemployed, though, you still get to go to the United Arab Emirates — beeatch!"

"Correction — I get to fly to Paris on business class thanks to the UAE so they can promote an airline company. They fly me out in style to butter me up, I hear a bunch of bigwigs tell me how great their airline is, I write a puff piece about how great it is, and then I earn just enough to pay off about two days' worth of credit card debt from the money I spent while I was down there."

"Still worth it and I'm still jealous. Quit your bitching."

"I am spoiled," Ana conceded. "When they offered me the press trip my first thought was why they weren't flying me to Dubai instead of Paris, as if Paris was some horrible consolation prize. I guess that's where one of their main branch offices is. Whatever — as long as I arrive on business class."

"You must really be desperate for some kind of perk if you're flying at all. I've seen you on a plane before. It's ugly. Business or coach — you're pathetic. I'm pretty sure 5-year-olds get root canals with more grace."

"Not pathetic, just nervous," Ana chuckled, downplaying her crippling phobia of flying. "And what happened to not beating me up? You're supposed to be my psychiatrist."

"You can't afford me. So as your friend, I'll tell you what a professional wouldn't: Get your ass into gear and start packing," Kate instructed, hanging up on her bemused friend.


	2. Chapter 2: MR PRETTY-BOY-DICKWAD

**CHAPTER TWO: MR. PRETTY-BOY MODEL/RUTHLESS BUSINESSMAN/DICKWAD**

Ana had a better concept of money now that she didn't have any, but she wasn't by nature a penny-pincher. From her perspective, time and effort were worth a certain cost as well, so instead of trudging a massive suitcase through the subway or taking a pricy cab, she tried a car service for the first time.

It was relatively affordable and everyone always raved about the kinds of cars they were driven in. After figuring out the app — and accidentally ordering three pickups — she eagerly awaited her ride. A 1989 hoopty pockmarked with dents was her grand chariot.

"Figures," she grumbled.

But the driver, an eager young man named Marc who'd just arrived from Guinea, grew on her. She wasn't fond of small talk with strangers but quickly warmed to Marc's incessant chattering.

"I immigrated here too, from Romania, when I was a child," she told her excited chauffeur. "Did you have to leave family behind?"

"Yes my parents and younger sisters are still in Guinea, but it's not the best place to start a life. So I'm studying in the U.S. and hope to bring them over one day."

"I'm sure they're proud of you. What are you studying?"

"Finance."

"You'll make money," she muttered wryly, scrunching her nose in both disgust and envy. "Where do you go to school?"

"University of Maryland. I love it."

"My alma mater."

"Really?" he beamed. "That's amazing!"

Not really, she thought, considering they both lived in Maryland, but she appreciated his enthusiasm.

"When did you graduate?" he asked.

"I finished in 2003. It's a great school. I loved it too."

"Oh my goodness 2003! I was just a baby back then! A baby. That was sooo long ago," Marc shrieked.

 _Talk about needing a lesson in how_ _ **not**_ _to talk to older women._ But Ana liked her loquacious new West African friend and let his ageism go. "Yes it was a while ago. Time has a way of slipping past you," she said, wistful for the simplicity of college life.

When they pulled up to the drop-off area, Marc leaped out to help with her bags, only to be practically mowed over by a black sedan. An intimidating, sharply dressed man emerged from the passenger side of the Audi. Or was it a BMW? Or Benz? She could never tell.

Ana was too busy drooling over the car's occupant. He sported an expensively tailored black suit, a thick, wavy mop of copper hair and sexy, barely there stubble on his chin. His perfectly symmetrical face was defined by those angular lines and rakish features that baby-face male models dream of having. He was good-looking and definitely knew it. Over six feet of bulky muscle didn't hurt either.

Ana was snapped out of her admiration by his booming voice. "Watch it! For God's sake this entire area isn't yours to commandeer," he roared, giving both her and Marc a condescending glare. _Way to ruin a perfect mouth — by opening it._

"Don't worry about it," she consoled her shaken, deer-in-the-headlights driver. "He doesn't own the curbside drop-off either. He's just a douche," she winked, earning her a throaty laugh from her Guinean comrade.

Ana wasn't a wallflower but she didn't actively seek out confrontations, so she brushed off Mr. Pretty-Boy Model/Ruthless Businessman/Dickwad, who barreled into the airport without a second glance back.

As usual Ana's stellar sense of direction kicked in once she entered the airport, so she circled around the ticketing area a few times. Once she decoded which line was hers, she looked up to find Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad tapping his designer shoe on the marble floor, waiting impatiently for her to get out of his way — again.

"This line is for business class only," he patronizingly informed her. She wanted to say that yes, sometimes even plebeians fly business class, but refrained. "Yes I know," she told him brusquely, moving in front of him.

Christian was already fuming because his jet was out of commission and his assistant had accidentally stuck him in business class, not a private first-class suite, which were now booked. _What kind of fucking airline only has 12 first-class suites?_

Adding insult to nonexistent injury, a pending investment deal was going south, forcing him to trek to Paris, a city he hated, to salvage it. The last place he wanted to be in was in was yet another sterile airport surrounded by travelers with their heads in the clouds — _or, rather, up their asses._ Christian pointedly looked down at the petite brunette in front of him who seemed to be staring off into la-la land.

As much as she despised flying, airports always held a certain appeal to Ana. Shiny and busy, they represented an escape of sorts, a clean slate. She even loved their clinical smell — like the high of a new car smell. She was jolted out of her reverie by a terse command behind her. "Go," Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad motioned when a counter opened up.

Ana just nodded blankly and made her way to the woman with a fake smile and caked-on makeup plastered on her face. She felt dowdy by comparison in her sneakers, jeans and plain white shirt. It's a designer-label shirt at least, she consoled herself, even if it did come from the outlet.

When another ticketing agent opened up, she saw Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad in her periphery, occasionally hearing him bark commands like, "I expect the internet access to be decent this time around" and "absolutely no more delays" and something about "a dozen fucking seats."

He was used to getting his own way — and people bending over backward to give it to him. _I wonder how they would tolerate this prick if he didn't have his looks or money to lord over their bowed heads._

Once she got the full business-class tutorial, Ana resumed wandering the airport aimlessly — in part to avoid bumping into Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad at the TSA checkpoint.

Sure enough, though, once she reached the security ropes, there was her erstwhile travel companion. He let out an exasperated sigh but begrudgingly nodded for her to get in line first, extending her a modicum of courtesy. She gave him a tight smile and mentally flipped him the bird.

Even the pre-clearance security lines were filling up with inept travelers, amping up Christian's frustration. When he saw Ana fidget with her laptop in the explosion that was her carry-on bag, while a phone dangled out of her unzipped purse, he hit his limit. "FYI, I know you might be a novice at this flying concept but phones count as electronics," he reprimanded her as if she were a schoolgirl.

She hit her limit as well. "You don't say? I was going to leave it in there along with the 30 ounces of mystery liquid I have," she fired back, oozing sarcasm.

His head snapped back in surprise as she stood to her full height — a whopping five feet, two inches that barely reached up to his chest.

 _Nice rack, but not going to happen lady._

 _Nice dark eyes, to go with your black heart jerkweed._

"I was merely trying help _ma'am_. You seem a bit overwhelmed," he sneered, emphasizing the "ma'am" for good measure. _Nothing sets a woman off like disparaging her age._

She narrowed her eyes at him. _It's miss not ma'am motherfucker._

"As overwhelmed as I am by your kindness, _sir_ , I can manage putting a phone in a plastic tub. But thank you for the reminder."

Ana craned her neck all the way up to give him the stink eye and then, to make sure she fully conveyed her displeasure, took her sweet time offloading the rest of her electronics just to piss him off. Crumpled tissues, hand sanitizer, pens and partially unwrapped candy all came tumbling out.

A ghost of a smile crept on his lips. Christian was impressed by her resolve. She was no pushover like the lackeys he was accustomed to. But he was still in a rush and her haphazard packing job left a lot to be desired, so he charged past her as soon as they cleared the security queue.

Unfazed, Ana headed to the nearest bar to quell her pre-flight jitters, unaware that she had access to a business-class lounge. _Amazing how leisurely the whole airport experience can be when you don't have emails to check or work to do._

When it was time to board, Ana was relieved that Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad was nowhere in sight. Of course, she also hadn't realized that business-class passengers board the plane first.

Dazzled by the spacious opulence around her, she eventually located her seat number — only to find a gorgeous yet irate set of molten grey eyes staring back at her. _Why should I even be surprised that he'd be next to me? Damn karma. Bitch hates me._

Ana decided to extend her scowling seatmate an olive branch and gave him a friendly smile to ease the tension. His response: nada — just a vacant stare. _Alrighty then, so much for the friendly skies._

She tried to reach her window seat without touching Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad but her attempts to avoid him only backfired, as her overstuffed purse swung in his face and her book tumbled onto his lap. "Careful," he warned, throwing her an icy glare as he shoved the book back in her hand.

Christian pinched the bridge of his nose as he watched her struggle to settle in, cramming her phone, laptop, magazines, book, pillow, earplugs, jacket and a bottle of water in the ample seat pockets. With only an iPhone and Blackberry neatly stashed in his, he looked over at the shit-storm next to him. _Doesn't this idiot realize they have water in business class? Has she ever even flown before?_

An uncomfortable silence followed for the next 30 minutes as the plane ripped off the tarmac. He noticed her bare-white knuckles gripping the armrest for dear life and was fairly certain she hadn't blinked in the last half hour. _Great, a nervous flier._ _This keeps getting better and better._

"Sir, may I offer you something to drink?" the flight attendant asked, making her rounds.

His response was gruff, bordering on rude, as he ordered a double bourbon on the rocks — no thank you at the end.

Requesting champagne, Ana gave the unflappable woman the appreciative smile she deserved. But when she reached over to grab the flute, Ana accidentally spilled a tiny amount on Mr. Pretty-Boy Dickwad's elegant black suit.

"Crap I'm so sorry," Ana exclaimed. "Here let me get you a tissue. I'm truly sorry."

"Yes I'm sure that was _truly_ unintentional," he replied, staring at her with thinly veiled contempt. Ana was stunned into silence by the venom in his voice, so the flight attendant stepped in to apologize profusely. "Sir I'm so sorry," she said, trying to placate him while dabbing at the few invisible drops of bubbly that had splashed onto the lapel of his jacket. Ana gathered her wits long enough to meekly offer him a crumpled tissue from her purse.

Christian just struggled to control his breathing as he silently prayed to the Gods to keep from flaying the two hens clucking around him.


	3. Chapter 3: FALLACY OF FIRST IMPRESSIONS

**CHAPTER THREE: THE FALLACY OF FIRST IMPRESSIONS**

He brushed off his jacket — along with their well-meaning gestures of help — but not before lobbing one last dig. "They don't make these seat dividers like they used to," he grumbled under his breath, loud enough for Ana to hear. Even the impeccably dressed flight attendant was surprised by his backhanded slap.

That was it.

"What the fuck?" Ana bellowed, giving him her best WTF look. "I mean seriously? Are _you_ for real?"

It was Christian's turn to look surprised. Mouth agape, eyes wide as saucers, he stuttered out an "I, ah, well," before clamming up. Finally, she thought — that shut his pretty little trap.

"I think what's really bothering you is that big stick up your ass," she casually observed, reveling in his shock. "And they simply don't make dividers large enough to accommodate that — _sir_ ," she spit out.

 _Cha-ching!_ Ana's face broke out into a huge, proud grin, while a look of disbelief spread across his. What the fuck is right, Christian thought. He was about to put this ballsy woman who belonged in coach back in her place, until he caught a glimpse of her bright smile. It was pretty, he thought, still blown away by her audacity. _Pretty!? What am I, a 13-year-old girl playing with_ _her princess dolls?_

Ana shook her head at the absurdity of the situation as the flight attendant gave her a subtle wink, topping off her champagne before retreating. _Yeah you saw that stick up his ass too! It's been poking me ever since I got to the airport_.

The little exchange at his expense was not lost on Christian, incensing him even further.

"Am I amusing you?" he asked, his tone laced with derision. "Pardon me for being slightly uncomfortable, what with that large stick protruding from my ass."

He meant it as an insult, but it had the opposite effect.

Ana spit out her champagne at the visual, erupting into laughter when she saw the look of affronted outrage he wore. Yet again, her unexpected reaction caught him off guard. Dumbfounded, he just watched in mute fascination as waves of hysteria consumed her.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It's just that you should see your face," she snorted, trying — and failing — to rein in the soft giggles that wracked her body.

A reluctant smile tugged on his lips when he saw champagne dribble down her chin, the infectious, carefree sound of her laughter making him chuckle.

 _Cut the girl some slack Christian. She's drooling on herself for God's sake._

"Miss, I apologize. You shouldn't of taken any offense to my previous remark," he chastised her, resuming his business-like demeanor.

Ana stopped laughing long enough to wipe a lone tear from her eye and shoot him an incredulous stare. _Did he just apologize and reprimand me at the same time? I'll give the guy credit: He's got a set of balls on him in addition to that stick._

She knew she should let this silly pissing contest go, but her feistiness was flowing alongside the champagne.

"I shouldn't take offense eh? Well, that 'apology'" — using sarcastic-laden air quotes — "along with the snide comments you've thrown my way pretty much reek of offense."

 _Pretty_ — that word kept floating in the air, Christian thought. Yet again, this pain-in-the-ass spitfire floored and frustrated him, but he graciously opted not to ream her a new one. "You're right, I'm sorry. My behavior has been rude," he conceded, albeit with great difficulty. "Please accept my apologies … which, by the way, I don't make very often and have now offered to you twice — even though it takes two to tango Miss."

"Just couldn't resist that last part could you?" She arched her brow at him but flashed him a brilliant smile that disarmed him. His own lips quirked up in response. "Sorry."

"Well, now that I've apparently broken your record for apologies, then I guess I have to accept one of them," she quipped, shaking her head at his haughty arrogance. "It's fine — no worries. I'm only kidding. I'm sorry too," she said, her words lacking conviction but her eyes dancing with mirth. _What a pretty shade of blue._

"Let's just forget the whole thing. I hope you enjoy your flight and I promise to stay out of your way," Ana added politely, ready to move on from their heated exchange and indulge in the excesses of business class. But Christian was intrigued.

"Thank you, though by the looks of things it appears you're having a difficult time doing so."

"What, enjoying the flight? Why? Because of you?" she shot back, confused. She thought she spied a pang of hurt flicker across his face.

"No, umm, that's not what I meant. You just seem nervous that's all."

"Oh," she let out a deep breath. She hadn't been in the mood for another confrontation. "Yeah I'm terrified of flying. Sorry, is it that obvious? I'm well aware I don't scream sophisticated flier. Don't worry, though, I'll keep to my side of the divider, even if we do go down," she joked.

She decided to play nice with her irate travel companion but knew well enough to leave him alone. This man certainly wasn't one for idle chitchat so she gave him a friendly yet dismissive smile and turned to gaze out the window.

"Why are you terrified?" he interrupted her attempts to pull away from him. "I've never understood why people are afraid of flying."

"Umm, because I'm scared of the whole crashing and dying part," she let out another good-natured laugh at his obtuse question. " _I've_ never understood what's so hard to understand about that!"

Christian had never thought about it in such childlike terms, and for the first time since arriving at the airport, he cracked a genuine smile, their eyes locking. She had attractive eyes — alluring even, he'd venture to say. Powder blue with long eyelashes and the confidence to look the person she was talking to straight on.

"OK, I suppose that makes sense," he relented. "Why fly then?"

Again, Ana giggled as if the answer was the most obvious in the world. It made him feel strangely lighthearted. "Because I have to get from point A to point B, just like you. And if someone offers to get me there in business class, I'm not exactly going to say no."

"So someone offered this to you?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.

"Yes it's part of a press trip that the UAE is funding for journalists. They're not hard up for money so I figured why not take advantage of their largesse?" she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"So you're journalist?"

Ana wanted to bang her head against a wall at his dense questions but she was done being a smart ass. "Yep. An editor actually, but I occasionally write articles."

"What kind of articles?"

 _Crap he's really going to drag this out isn't he?_ She hated opening up this Pandora's box on a plane. Five minutes of small talk usually led to five hours of awkward silence afterward.

"Mostly international affairs, a little domestic politics here and there," she said. "Your typical fun stuff," she threw in so she wouldn't appear standoffish.

And there was the silence. This was the point where she should ask what he did, but Ana didn't feel like opening up that can of worms. _I honestly don't care._ But an expectant pause forced her hand and she mechanically spoke to fill the void.

"So what do you do?" she asked, hating how that question sounded even to her own ears. It was a necessary evil to find out what people did for a living but it always reeked of narcissism, as if a person's profession defined them.

"I used to be a venture capitalist but now I'm a hedge fund manager based in New York. High-risk ventures have typically been my forte so it was a natural transition to hedge funds, as opposed to traditional mutual funds. My company oversees a wide range of securities across the globe, mainly in Asia and the emerging markets, but also in Europe…"

She'd already begun tuning him out. When it came to financial advisors, investment portfolios and big business, all Ana heard was that garbled background noise whenever adults talk in a Snoopy cartoon — "wah, wah, wah." Exactly why I'm broke,she thought, scolding herself for her financial illiteracy.

"So you don't do anything tangible for living?" she uttered before realizing what she had blurted out. "Holy crap I'm sorry. That came out really wrong," she said, looking directly into his eyes. "That apology I really meant," she winked, hoping to diffuse the tension.

He could see she was sincere and lingered for a moment to really study her. Her piercing blue eyes were growing on him, especially the way she would slightly tilt her head downward but maintain an unwavering stare.

Normally he'd be livid at her insinuation — his 80-hour workweeks begged to differ that he did nothing "tangible" with his time — but her bluntness was an unexpected break from the isolating monotony of his travel routine. "It's alright," he responded, equally sincere. "Consider us even on the snide remarks. I find your candor refreshing." Now he couldn't believe he had just blurted _that_ out.

"Oh well I have plenty of that. Too much in fact," she muttered to herself, a knowing smile playing on her lips.

"In that case, tell me why you think so badly of my profession. I'd like to hear an outsider's perspective."

"Oh no, I'm not that honest. I haven't lost all sense of decency," she replied, stifling a smile as her face broke out into an unattractive sheen of cold sweat. He didn't pick up on it. He did, however, notice how soft and plump her lips were when her teeth bit into them — _fuck!_ — how dainty her hands were and how a few loose tendrils of chestnut hair escaped her unkempt ponytail to curl around her tiny ears. Appraising her for the first time, he saw she had a decent figure — pert breasts, small frame, lean legs, mid-30s by his estimate.

As his eyes raked her over, he also spotted a faint, rosy tinge to her cheeks. _Is she blushing? Yep, she is. She's embarrassed!_ Christian was immensely pleased with himself.

"I assure you I can handle whatever you have to say," he told her. "I've already had a taste of your honesty. Go ahead."

"Uh no. Nice try." Ana refused to admit that she thought his profession was vapid and parasitic, getting rich off the rich without contributing any actual value back to society. Instead of a philosophical debate about capitalism though, she tried for self-deprecation to soften the blow. "Besides, I'm clueless about money matters. If I knew about finance, I would never have become a journalist," she said, trying to lighten the mood while ignoring his fierce stare, as if he were trying to probe her thoughts.

 _She definitely has an opinion._ _She has a lot of opinions swimming around in that pretty little head of hers._ Her refusal to give them up only made him more determined.

"OK, so no thoughts on venture capitalism or hedge fund management. Well then, since you're a world affairs expert, what's your take on the Syria crisis?" he asked, leaving out the "smart ass" at the end of his question.

"Well, there are no easy answers to that civil war," she began, pausing thoughtfully. Christian began to gloat, assuming he had stumped her.

"And it is a civil war — I hate that generic-sounding 'crisis' terminology," Ana corrected him, his gloat slowly dissipating. "It's funny. Everyone talks about what might've been, but four years ago Syria was a drastically different story than it is today. It's a fallacy to say that if the U.S. had intervened when the protests initially broke out that things would've been different. Hindsight is always 20/20, but at the time we figured Assad would fall like the other dominos of the Arab Spring uprisings.

"And let's face it, we had no vested strategic interests in Syria. It would be one thing if there was oil under the ground," she mused, more so to herself, before snapping back to the present. "But we'd just come off two ground wars — an intervention would have been unthinkable politically and untenable militarily," she said, stopping to see if he was still listening. When she saw him hanging on her next word, she pressed on. _OK, if he wants the total spiel he'll get it. What the hell, the flight attendant hasn't come back with any more champagne._

"No one thought it would devolve into a slow-grinding humanitarian catastrophe, and remember that the potential blowback of a Western intervention was very real at the time, especially in the wake of Iraq. It could've precipitated an even greater loss of life. The concept of safe zones are all well and good until they're actually implemented," she chuckled, though her humor was lost on him. He didn't even realize Syria was technically in a state of war.

"In fact, I think the overarching focus on military intervention obscured the larger diplomatic effort that should've been taking place when Assad and the rebels were both still relatively weak. That was the real lost opportunity — not necessarily the chemical 'red lines' everyone harped about later.

"Don't get me wrong," she was quick to add so he wouldn't mistake her realpolitik frankness for inhumane callousness. There was no danger of that. "The humanitarian response has been pitiful and absolutely inexcusable. Local ceasefires might've held had more outside effort gone into sustaining them. And don't get me started on the lack of media interest, the refusal of Western nations to absorb Syrian refugees or the general apathy among the American public."

He nodded, as if in agreement, but in reality he just wanted to keep her talking. She was glowing and clearly in her element.

"But now, I just don't know," she sighed, her eyes drifting off, as if it were painful for her to admit she didn't have an answer to the suffering in that war-wracked nation. "There are so many factions, so much radicalization, so many overlapping and conflicting loyalties that it's impossible to 'choose a side.' The sectarian genie has been let out of the bottle and now it's a proxy war, much like Lebanon was in the '80s. The Saudis and Iranians have their tentacles in Syria and won't let go, even if the country is essentially a fiefdom of local tribes now."

He sat there engrossed while she continued thinking out loud. "As for us? Were there really any moderate rebels for us to train? I just don't know. But I do know that the Pentagon's training program has been an abysmal failure thus far, the CIA doesn't seem to have any eyes and ears on the ground — other than a few drones circling overhead — and our bombing campaign, while theoretically pinpoint accurate, decapitates one fighter only to have 10 more sprout in his place. At least I'm not the only one who apparently doesn't have any answers," she lamented, suddenly aware of his presence for the first time in 10 minutes.

Silence.

"Crap I'm sorry! I was just rambling. You shouldn't of gotten me started on my soapbox! Well, long story short, I don't know. Not the best headline, but it's the truth," she laughed nervously, this time unequivocally turning her head to stare out the window so she could put him out of his misery. If she had looked back, though, she would've seen a man mesmerized, not in misery.

He was enthralled by the dichotomy seated next to him. She was a strange hybrid of an unfiltered teenage girl who spouted off whatever was on her mind, and an intelligent, worldly woman who knew her mind. He had completely misjudged her, oversimplified and belittled her, and for the first time in his life, Christian felt like the arrogant ass she had painted him out to be.


	4. Chapter 4: THE HOT SEAT

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE HOT SEAT**

"That was quite impressive. Thank you for the lesson in geopolitical affairs," Christian said in an effort to divert her attention back to him. Ana wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or sincere.

"No problem. I doubt I told you anything you didn't already know," she replied, feeling inexplicably flustered. She averted her eyes from his intense stare and tried to pretend the blackness on the other side of the window was the most fascinating thing she'd ever seen. _It was easier to be confident when he was being a rude Adonis, rather than an inquisitive one._

"Actually I'm not as knowledgeable about world affairs as you clearly are, so it was very enlightening. It's a seven-hour flight so I'm tempted to take advantage of your company to get caught up on everything else happening in the world," he said earnestly.

 _Is he flirting with me?_ Ana shoved her schoolgirl fantasies out of her head and relied on her grown-woman avoidance techniques. "Oh lordy don't get me started. You definitely wouldn't want to hear a seven-hour lecture from me!" He did, in fact.

"OK, maybe not the entire world then. How about just one region? What's the key to peace in the Middle East?" _That should keep her going for seven hours._

"If I knew that then I'd be flying _first_ class because I'd be a wealthy woman," she smirked, trying to give him another out by turning toward the window. He was about to physically spin her head around if she didn't tear herself away from that damn window.

"How did you get into journalism?"

 _He must really be bored._ Screw it, Ana thought. The can of worms had already been opened and truth be told she enjoyed hearing herself talk about herself. _If he likes it too, then that's his problem._

"I really was horrible with numbers, so that ruled out anything related to math or finance. Writing always came naturally to me, so it wasn't rocket science. I fell into journalism in college. I was never aggressive or curious enough to become a reporter, but I loved foreign policy, was detail-oriented and knew how to make bad writing better, so I became an editor," she explained, suddenly shy by how much she was divulging.

"So why do you do what you do?" she asked, trying to shift the focus back onto him.

He'd never heard it phrased that way — almost childlike in its innocence.

"I was always good with math and figures, so I suppose it wasn't much of a leap for me either. I'm not risk-averse, so I prefer the aggressive approach of hedge fund management. I also enjoyed being a venture capitalist, watching fledgling businesses take shape. I had a natural instinct to pick out the winners and losers, which translated to the assets I currently manage."

"So do you do it more to watch other ideas grow or to turn a profit?" Once again, her directness both unsettled and intrigued him. "To make money if I'm being completely honest," he replied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"Nothing wrong with that," she reassured him. "Usually the people who have a problem with other people making money are the ones who don't make it."

"An astute observation."

"Broke people tend to have a lot of epiphanies," she deadpanned.

"But you must love what you're doing. You sound very passionate about it."

"I was," she said, pausing. Now it was her turn to squirm in her seat. "I ran a small newspaper that specialized in foreign affairs. But with the industry being what it is — out of date and out of money — we had to close our doors. So I'm starting from scratch. I've been trying to do a blog since all the news is online anyway, but it's slow going. Everyone and their mother is a writer nowadays," she scoffed bitterly.

He saw her twist her fingers into knots and knew better than to pour lemon on her open wound, so he decided on a different tack.

"Are you married?" _Jesus Christian did you just go there?_ Hopefully she doesn't misinterpret my intentions, he thought, trying to convince himself they were completely benign.

Wow, she thought, he's going straight for the jugular. _Why doesn't he just ask if my puppy died?_

"No, starting from scratch on that front too. I'm recently separated actually. Just didn't work out," she replied, itching to look out that window again. _Where the fuck is the flight attendant with the alcohol? I could have gotten this speedy shit service in economy._

"Why not?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. _Shut the fuck up! Just literally keep your mouth shut._ He not only broke his record for apologies on this flight, he was now apparently breaking his record for personal questions.

Ana knew she should've gone straight to the vodka instead of the champagne. "It just didn't. I could BS and give you all the reasons and excuses for why it didn't, but in the end everyone has their own sob stories, don't they?" She looked at him point-blank, her powder blue eyes penetrating him.

He stopped breathing. _Does she know mine?_

In reality, she was pleading with him to stop this line of questioning.

"But at the end of the day it came down to the fact that I just didn't want to be married any more, if that makes any sense," she answered to appease him.

"I suppose. So you won't ever get married again?" _What the fuck is wrong with me? Stop speaking! And where the fuck is that flight attendant?_

Ana chuckled. "I'd sooner be committed to an asylum than to another marriage," she said, mostly to herself, scouring the aisle for the MIA attendant.

He'd known countless women who told themselves the exact same thing, only to expect the fairytale romance the minute they started dating him. But he could see the truth behind her words and for some reason it irritated him.

She felt like her ass was on fire from being in the hot seat for so long, so she figured it was time to return the favor.

"What about you? Married, divorced, single?" She hoped he wouldn't presume that she was interested in him. Ana knew better than that.

"Never married. No desire to be," Christian replied in his characteristically detached manner. He detested the word "single" because it implied actively looking for someone, which he never did. Women were a necessary, pleasant distraction, but the only things he loved were his solitude and ambition.

A nonjudgmental nod was her only reply. It irked him.

"You don't approve?" he teased, mildly serious.

"Why should I approve or disapprove?" she fired back, surprised by his question. "Besides I'm hardly in a position to give out marriage advice. To each their own."

"That's a very Zen philosophy."

"Losing a husband and a job have mellowed me," she said, regretting the diarrhea of the mouth she seemed to have around this guy. "What I mean is that in my 20s, I had a vision for what life was supposed to be like — a schedule if you will. And I did judge people who didn't follow society's timing. But then I think eventually everyone realizes that all those expectations are an illusion. When life doesn't go according to plan, it's amazing how quickly you let go of your preconceived notions. Married eight times, forever single, faithful, swingers, kids, childless, gay, straight, career, broke, house, shack, dogs, cats, rabbits — whatever. Your life is your prerogative," she said, instantly wishing she could take back her rambling diatribe. _Stop with your quack imitation of an armchair psychiatrist! Just for the love of God stop talking Ana!_

He leaned in, transfixed by her impromptu soliloquy. "I completely agree. Marriage was simply never my prerogative. I suppose it can be right for other people but the thought of a committed, long-term relationship never held any sway for me. It always seemed to be more trouble than it was worth and I preferred being alone, free to build up my business."

"Yes I can certainly see that," she agreed, though he detected a trace of pity in her voice. She did see his point. The tail end of her marriage was a slow death spiral punctuated by wrenching fights and profound grief — but she never regretted having shared her life with someone. There was nothing like the security of knowing that there was one person in the world who truly cared about where you were, what you were doing and what made you tick. She felt sorry that he'd never get to experience that type of complete connection with another human being.

He sensed her sadness, unaware that it was aimed at him. Anxious to change the subject, he backtracked and asked the one question he had overlooked when they first met. "I'm sorry, my name is Christian Grey. What's yours?"

"Anastasia Steele, but I prefer Ana," she replied, just as the flight attendant _finally_ made her way back to them. She asked for a vodka cranberry. He asked how he could lower the seat divider.


	5. Chapter 5: CABS AND COFFEE

**CHAPTER FIVE: CABS, COFFEE AND INAPPROPRIATE SUGGESTIONS**

Seven hours later, along with several vodka cranberries for her and bourbons for him, they had covered the Israeli-Palestinian conflict (yes that could be called a "conflict," she informed him), Ukraine's civil war (a "war") and the Greek financial crisis.

The latter inspired a lengthy lecture. Ana said there was plenty of blame to go around for the eurozone mess — the Greeks were lousy money managers, the Germans pushed an austerity-centered approach that kept the Greek economy underwater and the bailouts rescued the risky lenders who sunk it in the first place. Christian put the onus solely on "lazy Greek workers," earning a rebuke from Ana, who told him that as a hedge fund manager, he had "an amazingly shortsighted view of debt crises and should know better."

They'd also touched on how paying for street parking via cell phone was an ingenious idea; how when you catch a dog doing his business in the grass, he shoots you a look that makes you feel as if you violated his privacy; and how it wasn't so much the bumpiness of the flight that bothered Ana, but the slowing and speeding up, as if the engines had stopped in midair. They both established that they don't like to be called Chris or Anastasia; that people who drive slowly in the left lane should be tailed; and that kids nowadays have it easy thanks to online dating, whereas their generation had to rely on the slim pickings at old-fashioned bars and nightclubs.

She noticed that his face wore a permanent scowl, except when he was smiling at one of her idiosyncratic theories about life. He noticed her ass when she got up to go to the bathroom.

Besides her behind, Christian found himself drawn to Ana's unconventional charm as he tried to tease out more details about her personal life, especially her ex-husband. Ana didn't take the bait and stuck to generic observations about dog poop and fiscal crises. His barrage of questions and oddly comforting presence helped her forget the turbulence that usually paralyzed her during flights. She was grateful for the diversion but saw it as just that — a pleasant diversion. Ana was smart enough to recognize that a man like Christian would never be interested in a quirky plain Jane like her.

So when the flight landed and it was time to part ways, she didn't pay much attention to the hand that hovered at the small of her back as he guided her down the aisle, or how he'd been carefully watching to make sure she didn't trip as she stepped off the plane, or how he led her through the thicket of passengers to find the baggage claim area.

"They bring out the bags for business-class passengers first? Seriously? Now that's service," she exclaimed, her face a picture of wonder.

"They'd probably wipe your ass too if you asked," he said, causing her to choke on the bottled water she had just taken a swig of. He let out a deep-throated laugh, marveling at her naïveté and his ability to make a joke, something he rarely did.

Christian took Ana's luggage, even though she insisted she could roll it herself, and escorted her to the exit.

Once outside, though, he wasn't ready to leave, knowing that the only thing waiting for him were hundreds of emails and a stark hotel suite.

"Well, the cabs are right here and I've got the address to the hotel," she began tentatively. "Thank you for everything Christian. It turned out to be an unexpectedly great flight once that divider came down," she joked, a grateful smile on her face as she prepared to bid farewell to their bizarre encounter. But for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.

"I have a driver," he sputtered out before slipping his mask of ambivalence back on. "I'd be happy to offer you a lift. The cabs can be quite expensive." _Are they?_ He didn't really know.

"Oh thank you, but I don't want you to go out of your way. I'll be fine," she said, reluctant to take advantage of his generosity.

"It's really no trouble. We're going in the same direction after all," he replied, cordial and cool.

Her mom taught her to never accept rides from strangers, but when a sleek black sedan pulled up and she saw the mob of people trying to hail a cab, stranger danger went out the window.

Ana arched her brow slyly. "You're not going to turn out to be a serial killer who's going to kidnap me to get back at me for the whole stick-in-the-ass thing are you?"

"No, I promise I'll hold off on my revenge since I bombarded you with questions for seven hours," he reassured her, laughing.

"And don't forget you snapped at me like seven times," she reminded him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"And you spilled champagne on me."

"Touché. Let's go," she commanded as a burly driver opened the door for her.

"Do you ever drive yourself?" she asked as Christian climbed in next to her, her innocent question catching him off guard.

"Of course. But this way I'm able to work from the backseat. It's more efficient."

"Thrilling use of your time," she teased, rolling her eyes. "The rest of us common folk do something called look out the window."

"Yes I recall that's all you wanted to do when you first sat next to me on the plane," he retorted.

"Do you blame me? You practically tore my head off for looking in your direction," she shot back, an undercurrent of admonishment in her voice.

He winced at the memory but she didn't notice. Ana was too busy absorbing the sights and sounds whizzing past the window. It had been over a decade since she'd been in Paris and she missed its evocative charms. He leaned in and watched her, captivated not by the city of lights but by the way she found every drab apartment block and office building enchanting.

Ana prayed Christian would stop staring at her. The combination of a long flight and strong drinks had left her eyes red, face sallow, hair oily and body tired.

"Hung over?" he asked, accurately reading her mind and body.

"Not officially hung over but not quite sober either. Just in that unpleasant limbo state where you experience the worst of both worlds, you know?"

"Yes I know. I had the bourbons remember? No cranberry either to dull the pain."

"I don't know why I put myself through this ritual torture every time I take a transatlantic flight. I drink to get through the plane ride and land with a big-ass headache. Then I usually have to wait the whole day before I can check in to the hotel, so I walk around like a nomadic zombie. You'd think I would've learned my lesson by now."

"So you can't check in yet?"

"No of course not. It's not 3 o'clock yet."

"Oh yes," he said, still perplexed. Because he usually booked the penthouse suite, check-in times never posed much of a problem for Christian.

"I have a suite. You're welcome to use the guest bathroom to clean up," he offered. _Shit, did I just ask her back to my room?_ _Even that sounded creepy to my own ears._

"Uh what an inappropriate suggestion," she joked, trying to laugh off his inappropriate suggestion.

"No seriously, I appreciate that Christian — I really do — but you've more than atoned for the divider dig. I wasn't exactly an angel calling you an ass," she winked. His heart rate picked up.

"Besides, I'll be fine. Truth be told I regain my energy once I start walking around. I love Paris. It has such personality, despite the French," Ana quipped. "I love hitting up the cafés and just people-watching. The wine will help wake me up, too," she said, gazing out the window again so she wouldn't miss a single sight.

Her excitement was contagious and it was as if he were seeing the city through the eyes of a child, not as a jaded businessman. In all his travels to Paris it never once occurred to him to just sit in a café and watch other people. _Should I offer to go sightseeing with her? Why in the world am I trying to prolong this? I have a pile of emails to comb through. Hell, I've already offered her my damn room and she flat out refused me._

Oblivious to his internal struggle, Ana was lost in her own thoughts. "This was one of the few places in Europe that my husband never visited with me," she ruminated out loud before catching her slip-up. She felt strange talking about Jose with a man she barely knew and promptly switched gears.

"Besides, our press group is getting together for an informal meet-and-greet at 3, so that'll keep me occupied. The day will go by quickly," she told him.

Mercifully at that moment they pulled up to her hotel.

"Thank you again. This was such a huge help," Ana said, now anxious to get out.

"You're welcome. Let me get your bags," he insisted. "Actually I know this hotel." He didn't. "I'm sure I could speak with them to allow you to check in early." He'd offer them money.

A shower did sound nice. "Umm thank you — again," she said, grasping for words. The considerate gentleman in front of her was the polar opposite of the selfish prick she bumped into just eight hours ago.

Speaking fluent French — and the universal language of greed — Christian slipped the concierge a bribe to ensure that Ana could check in early to her now-upgraded room.

She could go up whenever she'd like but Christian conveniently left that tidbit out. "Your room will be ready in two hours. Best I could do," he lied.

"Oh no that's perfect. Better than waiting 12 hours to shower!"

"Can I treat you to some coffee while you wait? We can grab a croissant and do your people-watching," he offered.

Ana shuffled her feet, thrown off kilter by his kindness. _What's his endgame here?_ She narrowed her eyes trying to decipher his intentions but was met with a well-practiced look of impassivity.

"OK, but it's my treat. You've been my chauffeur and personal fixer, so a coffee is the least I can do."

"Don't forget the croissant," he chastised her.

Relieved he had extended their time together, Christian ushered Ana outside to the nearest café, where their easygoing banter veered from the bridges over the Seine to the catacombs under Notre Dame. Christian learned that she waitressed to put herself through college, mixed with the occasional DJ gig, and she hated cheap tippers and Chinese food. Ana learned that he loved Indian food, jazz and was a loner in college who came from money but wouldn't accept a dime from his lawyer father when he started his own business.

"Why not?" she prompted him.

"Because he was a dick and we never got along," he answered flatly, the bluntness of his reply taking her by surprise.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She was going to make a smart-ass remark that the apple didn't fall far from the tree but refrained.

"Go ahead and say it," he nudged her, accurately gauging her thoughts. Her cheeks beet red, she just smiled coyly and drank her third coffee — rejuvenated not by the caffeine but the company.

"What about your parents? Are they still alive?"

"Yes, of course! I'm not that old," she exclaimed in mock outrage. "Classic immigrant story: They arrived in this country with $20 in their pockets, worked menial jobs by day and took English classes at night, all to give me a better life. No pressure there! Hope I wasn't too big a disappointment for the sacrifices they made," she said, only half kidding.

"I'm sure you're not," he said quietly, his eyes glued to hers.

Embarrassed, she tried to deflect his compliment. "And I'm sure your parents — err, mom — is proud of you. You're clearly a very successful businessman."

"My mother died when I was 16," he confessed, his voice and emotions monotone. "Unfortunately I was old enough to know her so it hit me hard. That's why I didn't have much of a social life in college."

She cringed at his blasé description of her death. He was taken aback by his revelation. It had taken three sessions with his therapist just to broach the subject of his mother.

"Oh I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring it up," Ana stammered out, feeling like a moron for being surprised when he'd asked whether her parents were still alive. She always fumbled her words in these situations, despising the generic platitudes of sympathy people give to the grieving.

"Thank you, it's fine. It was a long time ago. That's why I learned to speak French. My father used to drag me here on his business trips after her death," he said nonchalantly. "So tell me more about your first trip here when you were 16. You said that was your first exposure to traveling abroad."

"Yes my parents arranged for me to stay with some old friends," she began, grateful for the change of topic. "It was amazing. I was young, on my own for the first time, in love with Paris and love-struck with French men! I even flew for the first time and loved that!"

Ana wasn't sure if it was the fact that they were only going to see each other for one day, or the romanticism of their surroundings or just their unconventional start, but she felt completely at ease with this enigma across from her.

For his part, Christian wasn't sure why he was magnetically drawn to her. Even though he was 37, he was accustomed to dating women at least 10 years his junior — physically attractive, emotionally unattached girls who served a singular purpose.

The woman in front of him — droning on and on about how America needed more mom-and-pop cafés and fewer conglomerate coffee shops — was a train wreck. Her hair flying in every direction, face drenched in sweat, shirt wrinkled and eyes puffy with fatigue, she wasn't exactly the type he'd look at twice. But he couldn't stop watching her, or listening to her or wanting to know every detail about her life.

So when they came to that familiar spot in front of her hotel where it was time to part ways, again, Christian finally admitted to himself that he wasn't going to let her go.

"So you'll be with the press group for the rest of the day?" he hinted, innocently enough.

"Yep. I'm sure after the meet-and-greet everyone will hang out in the evening. I'll join them, assuming there aren't too many kooks in the group," she responded, clueless as to his ulterior motive.

He mentally thanked her for giving him the perfect opening _. But how do you ask out someone you're intrigued by but not interested in? Tread carefully Christian._

"Well, how about I meet you later, in case you're either by yourself or with a bunch of 'kooks?'" _So much for treading carefully._

Ana gaped at him in wide-eyed confusion, too dumbfounded to formulate a response. _Is he asking me out? Shit maybe he really is a serial killer._

"I mean, listen, my intention is not to lead you on and I don't want you to misconstrue my invitation," he tried to clarify. "I simply have enjoyed our conversations and thought that since you're here alone, you might like some company. Not a date or anything like that," he stressed.

 _Relax, I get it. You couldn't be interested in me. No problem — I can do the friend thing. I've only got one of those anyway._

"No no, don't worry, I completely understand," she said, without a trace of malice, giving him a playful brow arch to reassure him that she wasn't offended. "Sure, why not? You listen more to my stories than my best friend does! If you want I can email you once I know what everyone else's plans are for tonight and you're welcome to tag along."

"Great. In that case I look forward to hearing from you Ana," he said, giving her his business card and a brief smile before walking out the door.

Christian was satisfied she had accepted his offer but something was eating away at him. He had made it perfectly clear that he wasn't asking her on a date and yet she wasn't the least bit upset by his slight. _Why not? Isn't she interested in_ _ **me**_ _?_

Ana would had to have been blind to _not_ be attracted to a man like Christian, but her practical nature wouldn't allow her imagination to run away with her. After all, she wasn't blind to her own looks either. Their physical mismatch was patently obvious.

So she consoled herself with the fact that she'd found a temporary travel companion who liked to listen to her rant and rave about politics and Paris.

Still, Ana couldn't resist searching Christian's name online when she got to her room, which was much bigger than she'd expected. Sitting on the plush purple sofa, the color drained from her face when the results on her laptop showed not only Christian's handsome visage, but his equally handsome net worth. Last year, Forbes tallied his company's revenues at just under $500 million.

"Holy crap! Can't he just buy his own plane for that kind of money? Wait, do revenues mean assets or profits? What's the difference? Oh who cares. He's definitely buying drinks tonight," she said, patting herself on the back for finding a filthy rich travel companion.

In his suite, Christian was busy ignoring his emails so he could search Ana's name. Only a few entries popped up, but he poured over every article that carried her byline, impressed with how she used layman's terms to distill complex foreign policy issues. He eagerly studied up on Greece and Syria so he could quiz her later.


	6. Chapter 6: BELLE EPOQUE

_**Author's Note:**_ _Thank you everyone for the reviews! I love reading them and I'm glad people like my different twist. I especially love the comments about Ana being a hot mess :) Like I said, some of this is personal so I wrote Ana based on how I'd react if a gorgeous millionaire hit on me — hello, I'd be freaking out LOL! So yeah hot mess fits (maybe not so hot, but I'd definitely be a mess_ _)._

 _In the next chapter things start to get juicy so stay tuned!_

 **CHAPTER SIX: BELLE** _ **ÉPOQUE**_

"I'm not about to dump all my Chinese assets because Shanghai got the jitters and can't get its shit together Andrea. Rattle some cages. Home in on the companies with long-term manufacturing potential that aren't saddled by too much debt and shed the egregious state-controlled monopolies. And schedule me a flight — _first class_ this time until the jet's back in service — for Shanghai in a few days, whenever Liu and his lackeys can meet."

Christian was pacing the expansive living room, issuing a barrage of orders to his long-suffering assistant Andrea. He was frustrated not by the Shanghai stock market's dismal performance but by the lack of communication from a certain writer. It was already 7 p.m. and still no email from Ana.

Finally, his inbox pinged. "Andrea I have to go. An important matter has come up," he said, hanging up without another word.

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Tonight**

 **Date: September 8, 2015, 7:01 p.m.**

 **Hi — sorry for the late email. We wound up grabbing an early dinner. I'm pleased to tell you that there are only two kooks in the group, which is pretty impressive for a bunch of journalists ;)**

 **Anyway, we're still going out for drinks later. The crack super-sleuth reporters in the group couldn't figure out where to go (because apparently there's nothing to do in Paris), so we'll probably just hang out by our hotel. You're welcome to join us but if you're tired or busy absolutely no worries!**

 **Best,**

 **Ana**

The writer praised herself for her missive — short, sweet and it gives him an out for tonight if he doesn't want to come.

Christian liked her little winky face. His reply was instantaneous.

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Re: Tonight**

 **Date: September 8, 2015, 7:03 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **Thank you for your email — I would be happy to join you for drinks and meet your kooky colleagues. I have finished my work obligations for the evening.**

 **At the risk of sounding presumptuous, might I suggest a place in the Latin Quarter? It is one of the best in town for after-dinner drinks and is located in a better neighborhood than your hotel. Please let me know and I can make the arrangements.**

 **Best,**

 **Christian**

 _Did he just make a joke and inadvertently insult my hotel?_ Ana just laughed at her hopelessly juvenile financial whiz kid. She wouldn't call him out on the hotel dig, but couldn't resist one flirty jab at his expense.

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Re: Re: Tonight**

 **Date: September 8, 2015, 7:10 p.m.**

 **You presumptuous? Never ;-)) Sure we can go to the Latin Quarter — it's my favorite part of town. But I don't think the group wants to go anywhere fancy if that's ok. Maybe just somewhere chill and casual?**

 **Ana**

 _Double winky smiley face! Chill?_ So much for the über-exclusive nightclub along the Seine he'd planned on booking.

He swiftly called down to the concierge demanding to know what the best "chill, casual" bar/lounge was in the Latin Quarter.

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Re: Re: Re: Tonight**

 **Date: September 8, 2015, 7:15 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **Belle** _ **Époque**_ **is said to have a relaxed atmosphere. I can pick you up at your hotel at 8 p.m. if you'd like. I look forward to seeing you.**

 **Best,**

 **Christian**

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Tonight**

 **Date: September 8, 2015, 7:20 p.m.**

 **Hi Christian,**

 **Thanks but I think the group is heading down together in a van, so I can just meet you there at 8:30. See you then!**

 **Ana**

She frowned at her unpacked suitcase, littered with bras, toiletries, T-shirts, jeans and a few business suits that still hadn't been hung up. Debating between black boots to spice up her otherwise low-key outfit or her trusty tennis shoes — a little worse for wear since they were the only pair she owned — Ana went with comfort over style. "We'll probably be standing around in a bar," she rationalized to herself. "Fuck it, it's fine. Who am I trying to impress?"

Emerging from the packed van, Ana may not have been trying to impress anyone, but she sure as hell was impressed by the commanding sight before her, as were her awestruck colleagues. Christian stood there, donning jeans, a black jacket and black dress shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing smattering of chest hair. The dark outfit accentuated his alpha-male features, giving him the appearance of a rogue mafia don.

He gave her a warm smile when she approached him, wearing a simple black tank top and khakis that billowed at the bottom to cover up her well-worn sneakers. Her hair was piled high in a messy bun and, even though it was unseasonably warm, she brought along a jacket, knowing she always gets cold wherever she goes.

Ana knew her appearance was half-ass at best. He thought she looked cute. _Cute?! Jesus get a grip Grey. What are you 13?_

They gravitated toward each other amid the throngs of Parisians and tourists, Christian towering over her. With no heels on, she looked even more diminutive than usual.

"You're tall," she observed.

"You're short," he smirked.

Their deep conversation was interrupted by the motley crew of journalists behind her, all jostling to meet Ana's handsome new friend.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," Christian said, extending his hand to a tall, middle-age African man who headed an embattled opposition newspaper in Burundi. Christian patiently greeted each of the nine people in the group. Ana was surprised by the ingrained sense of civility he seemed to have developed over the past 24 hours.

At least one member of the group was unimpressed, however. A short, stout New Yorker with frizzy hair was too busy complaining about the lack of decent bagels in Paris to pay much attention to Christian.

Ana stood on her tiptoes to whisper in Christian's ear. "Ramona hates all things French, so naturally she accepted a free trip to France," she snickered, her breath sending shivers down his spine.

Just then, a striking, well-coiffed brunette in a skintight mini-dress practically knocked Ana over.

"Oh hi, my name is Emily. What's yours? Ana didn't tell us much about her mystery man," the smitten young woman purred, eagerly shaking Christian's hand.

"Hello I'm Christian. Nice to meet you," he replied, shooting a bemused glance to Ana, who was struggling not to roll her eyes. Emily was going to need a tissue to wipe the drool off her chin, Ana thought uncharitably.

Once Emily was out of earshot, Ana gave Christian the lowdown. "She writes about celebrities and fitness for some Southern magazine. She kept complaining that the meet-and-greet hadn't left her any time to practice her yoga exercises, so at one point, in the middle of the street, she just started doing some freaking Namaste pose. I shit you not."

Both of them burst out laughing at the mental picture. Christian's good mood soured, however, when a lanky, T-shirt-clad guy with floppy brown hair put his hand on Ana's arm.

"This place looks amazing Ana. Ready to go in? I need a drink after Ramona," he winked at her.

"I hear you. Christian this is Henry. He's a blogger from Spain," Ana said, making the final introduction.

He looks like the type who would blog while bunking in a European hostel, Christian thought uncharitably. _Fucker._ He gave the Spaniard a curt nod and lightly draped his arm around Ana's shoulder, guiding her inside.

She needed the guidance. Whenever the group went one way, Ana veered in the opposite direction. Steering her back each time, Christian escorted her to the private VIP booth he'd reserved.

"Wow Ana, your new friend has connections," Emily gushed, a hint of scorn in her voice.

"Ummm, yeah, looks like it," Ana stuttered out, unsure of how to react to the decadent private seating area.

"It was no bother," Christian simply said, maneuvering them so that he and Ana sat in a secluded corner, leaving Emily, Henry and the rest of the group to fend for themselves.

"This is a real turnaround from the man I met at the airport," she teased, bouncing up and down on the soft red cushions. "Who knew you could be so … normal?"

He chuckled, using the loud music as an excuse to whisper in her ear. "Who knew you could be so bubbly?"

She laughed nervously, goose bumps breaking out on her arms at his proximity and the deep baritone of his voice _. Maybe I should put on that jacket? No it's pretty hot in here._

He leaned back in, his warm breath washing over her. _She smells nice — pure like soap, not doused in expensive perfume._ "I'm sorry about the way I acted toward you Ana. Not my finest hour. My intention isn't to be rude to people. I just find it cuts through the niceties and gets things done."

"I suppose you're right. I tend to pussyfoot around people — present company excluded. Other than my stick-up-the-ass comment, I'm usually a nice, amiable person. I swear!"

He threw her a dubious look but wore a goofy grin on his face.

"Nice usually doesn't get results Ana," he pointed out.

"I know — I'm your friendly unemployed writer remember? But in a strange way it's almost instinctual to give people the benefit of the doubt, isn't it? I just always think it takes more out of _you_ to be mean to other people."

Again, he was caught flat-footed by her childlike observation. Her offhanded remark forced him to confront the way he'd always treated other people, and for the first time in his life, he felt oddly ashamed by it.


	7. Chapter 7: A NEW ARRANGEMENT

**CHAPTER SEVEN: ARRANGEMENTS vs. RELATIONSHIPS**

His arm casually resting behind her, Christian felt Ana begin to loosen up after a few drinks — and decided to take advantage of it.

"So how long where you married for?" he asked out of the blue.

"Over 10 years but we were together for 16. We got together fairly young," she replied, evasive as ever on the topic. "What about you? What's the longest relationship you've ever been in?" she countered.

"A few months. I don't know, maybe three or four. I can't remember exactly."

"Really?" she blinked in disbelief. "How old are you?"

"37, why?

"That just seems like an awfully long time to go without having any long-term relationships."

Christian smiled to himself. _No filter._

"As I said, I'm not really interested in serious commitments. I have neither the time nor the patience for them."

"The patience part I can believe," she smirked.

"Yes mine does tend to wear thin quite easily, as I'm sure you've noticed. Honestly, I'm not interested in that sort of thing. I date women. I play the part of the dutiful boyfriend with deep pockets. I shower them with prestige and presents, treat them well and in return, I get the no-strings attachments I'm seeking. I don't mean that to sound cold, but you asked."

"Umm, no, it's not cold. Well, yeah, actually it is pretty frigid," Ana said, appalled by his cavalier attitude.

 _Who the fuck is she to judge me?_ He'd never had to justify his past to anyone before. But the truth was, Christian did care about her good opinion.

"Look, I'm not explaining this very well. I'm upfront about what I want, as are they. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement." He was going to need a larger shovel for the hole he was digging.

"Arrangement? That sounds more like a business merger than a relationship," Ana blurted out. "Sorry, sorry. I suppose if everyone knows what they're getting into, it's alright. But in all those years you've never once had a girl who wanted to take things further with you?" she asked incredulously, the nosy reporter in her making an appearance.

"Of course I have. I just never wanted to take the next step and that was usually the end of the discussion. I like my world ordered a certain way, and that leaves little room for other people," he shrugged.

She just stared at him, unsure of what to say to Mr. Red Roses Romantic.

Christian didn't feel the need to rationalize his life, but he didn't want her to think ill of him either.

"I wouldn't say I never grew close with anyone before. I enjoyed their company. It was pleasant enough. And no it wasn't just about _physical_ enjoyment if that's what you're assuming," he said, quirking his brow at her. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. _Damn, caught red-handed with my mind in the gutter._

"We conversed, went out, etc. My past girlfriends were all intelligent, successful women who could hold their own. It's just that I never felt the need to get too personal with them. I'm a private individual I suppose, but that is how I'm built and I make no bones about it. That level of emotional intimacy always felt false or forced to me, so yes I would end things once I sensed certain lines were being crossed."

"I see. I suppose I understand," Ana trailed off, again stumped for words. She just couldn't relate to his choices. _How do you build a moat around your life and keep people out for so long?_

Two could play at this game, he thought. _Enough beating around the bush. It's time for her to fess up._

"What about you? Surely you know what it's like to be unsatisfied in a relationship since your marriage did not work out," he asked point-blank. "You were with someone for 16 years, your entire adult life. Can you really tell me they were all wonderful?"

She didn't flinch. "Yes, actually they were."

It was Christian's turn to be silenced. He had chalked up her reticence to an unhappy marriage, but clearly that was not the case. The realization was sobering.

"I see," he grumbled, crestfallen.

Ana felt the need to reciprocate after the somewhat heartless — yet oddly heartfelt — breakdown he gave of his lackluster love life. So she finally opened up about the tattered remains of hers.

"My husband was my soul mate, as cheesy as that sounds. We instantly clicked when we met and were inseparable ever since. I don't really buy into that whole opposites attract crap. We were close _because_ we were similar — identical even. We could look at any person on the street and think the exact same thing. Add years of marriage on top of that and you really do begin to emulate one another! It's not even just finishing each other's sentences. You build up your own language of inside jokes and secret innuendos," she smiled fondly, as if recalling some distant memory.

Christian's face fell. Her words stung, the emptiness of his choices mocking him, but he disguised it well. "Keep going, please," he coolly encouraged her. So she did, the floodgates now open.

"Don't get me wrong. We fought — and fought and bickered and fought some more. There were years when I legitimately wanted to put a pillow over his head and kill him in his sleep. There were other years when I couldn't keep my hands off of him — not in a bad way," she winked. "And years when we settled into a peaceful calm, where the sun and moon set around him. But I always looked forward to being with him, spending every waking moment with him, good or bad."

"So what happened then? I don't understand. Why did it end?" he pressed her, his mood suddenly despondent.

"Circumstances," she muttered cryptically. "Medical issues, money problems, the passage of time — nothing earth-shattering or dramatic."

Her deflection only ratcheted his curiosity. Christian knew he should back off, but he gave her an expectant look, urging her to continue. She sighed, throwing him a few more morsels.

"It was all just enough to put a strain on our marriage. But in truth, it put a strain on me — and broke me, mentally and emotionally," she confessed, staring into the glittering neon lights crisscrossing the dance floor.

"The post-mortem of a marriage is never pretty Christian, and both sides are usually to blame for the gruesome aftermath, but I was the one who banged the nail in our coffin, if that's what you keep getting at. We faced the same kind of obstacles that many couples do, but instead of overcoming them, I allowed them to change me, irrevocably. I felt like I was getting buffeted by one thing after another and finally I snapped. You know how some people handle adversity with grace? Well I'm not one of those people," she reflected sadly, tangling her sweaty fingers into knots.

Remorse twisted Christian's gut at her admission. He'd steamrolled her into taking this trip down memory lane and now she was on the verge of tears. Ana took a deep, fortifying breath before continuing, too lost in a sea of her own regret to even notice Christian's reaction.

"Everything snuck up on me and before I knew it, the person I was 10 years ago had vanished, along with the bond I shared with my husband. The more I tried to deny it and the more he tried to fix things, the angrier I became — at both of us. Everything he did irritated me. Hell, everything _I_ did irritated me. I was miserable and I made us miserable," she said, her voice far away.

"Finally, before I could inflict any lasting damage, I accepted that I was no longer the same person and that we could never be the same either. I loved this man with every fiber, every iota, of my being. And then I didn't. I wish I could tell you why. I wish I could tell you how someone can live for another person for 16 years and then wake up to find that connection dead, severed, but I can't. I just can't," she whispered, her shining eyes now vacant and lifeless.

"I'm so sorry Ana," Christian choked out after several minutes, guilt gnawing away at him. _Why did I have to needle this out of her? Why was I so hell-bent on exposing her secrets? How can I possibly stitch her back up?_

"Trust me, he's better off," Ana said, a shadow passing over her face. She took a sip of her drink before looking Christian square in the eye. "Leaving him was the only unselfish thing I did in the 16 years we were together."

She said it so earnestly that her declaration left him winded.

Ana hung her head down in shame, mortified by her disclosure. "I'm so sorry. I know I babble too much. I should never have burdened you with that," she said, so quietly he almost didn't hear her.

"No, no. Please don't apologize. I should never have pried. This is completely _my_ fault," he said, anxiously searching her face. Disappointment marred his.

She had finally opened up to him but he hated what she had to say. She loved someone in a way that he couldn't possibly fathom. He knew they were different, but this — the distance between them now seemed insurmountable. Christian knew he needed to let this girl go for both their sakes.

But when he saw tears pool in her blue eyes, leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. His hands itched to wipe them away, hold her, comfort her, claim her. He watched as her mind escaped into the recesses of her past, and he was desperate to wrench her back into the present.

 _Fuck it!_

He grabbed her face and crashed his lips onto hers, sucking the air out of her lungs as he exhaled in unbridled relief. She tasted like heaven, like raspberries — as sweet as he'd imagined her to be. He didn't give a shit who was watching. Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around her head, he pulled her flush against him as his tongue ravaged her, not an inch of space separating them.

Ana's body molded to fit his perfectly, her mind and senses reeling. She was overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his kiss and clung to his biceps as his hardness stabbed her belly. She knew she should stop him, but she was spellbound by the taste, touch and frenzied movement of his lips, and craved more.

He was just as hungry for her. Christian forcefully angled her head so he could go deeper, his low grunts drowning out her tiny whimpers. She struggled to come up for air in between his demanding kisses. Their teeth clashed as his tongue swept the inside of her mouth, the coarse whiskers of his stubble scraping her cheek. It was sloppy, brutal and exhilarating.

"Christian," she moaned, gladly succumbing to his loss of control. Ana grabbed a fistful of his hair to anchor herself against his unrelenting onslaught, enjoying the rock-hard wall of his chest crushing hers.

When he felt those soft breasts pressed against him, Christian lost all sense of reason. He reached down to roughly cup her ass, hitching her leg around his and wedging himself between the junction of her thighs. In response, she unwittingly began to grind against him for more friction, driving him to the brink of insanity. "Fuck," he groaned into her mouth, the low rumble reverberating in her belly.

Christian couldn't get enough of her warmth and ached to be buried inside her. His lips still sealed onto hers, he pushed her down into the leather seat, practically climbing on top of her. Ana could no longer ignore the pronounced erection digging into her now-drenched sex and the alarm bells went off. When Christian felt small hands fist his shoulders, the fog of lust dissipated and he quickly peeled himself off of her, gasping for air.

"Shit I'm so sorry! Jesus Christ I don't know where that came from. Please forgive me," he breathed out, feeling completely exposed — not to mention more frustrated than ever.

"No it's OK. I'm sorry. I, umm," she tripped over her words, her chest heaving. _What the fuck was that! And holy crap was it good!_

"No I'm sorry Ana. I attacked you after you poured your heart out. I don't know what came over me! That was so wrong. I can't express to you how sorry I am for my inexcusable behavior." _Shit I almost took her right here in a crowded lounge! I still might if she'd let me._

Hunched over, Christian put his head in his hands, not wanting to see the smeared lipstick on her face.

"Well I think the first thing we need to do is stop apologizing to each other. I don't know who to forgive first," Ana burst out, as always her unexpected humor cutting the tension.

He chuckled and let out a rueful sigh. "I think I shoulder more of the responsibility here. Listen," he began, turning to face her. "I shouldn't have done that. I have enjoyed our time together immensely. I like talking with you. I'd love to continue talking with you. But I don't want to complicate things."

He hedged, not wanting to hurt her, but he didn't want to lie either.

"You're aware of my less-than-stellar track record. I don't really date. I'm not good at it and I'm not interested in it. That's in no way a reflection on you Ana. I don't do the friend thing that well either but I'd like to try with you, if you're willing to trust me again and give me another chance after that … little performance of mine."

She rubbed her eyes as if waking up from a dream and struggled to get her racing heartbeat under control. His own heart seized. _Is she going to realize what a horny prick I am and run for the exits?_ But then he saw a faint smile tug on her lips. He was perversely pleased at how swollen they were and wanted to taste them again.

"Well … if you promise not to molest me again, then yes I promise to give the friend thing a try," she teased, her lips chapped. "Seriously, don't feel bad. Let's just blame the alcohol and jetlag and leave it at that. I've really enjoyed talking with you too and I don't want this to ruin that. So yes let's be friends — _just_ friends. As dorky as that sounds, I would really like that."

"Good," he let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. "We can do that. Another drink?"

"YES!"

Two drinks later — their buzz back on — they resumed their easygoing rapport, though each went out of their way to avoid touching the other. The rest of the group occasionally chimed in, pretending they hadn't witnessed their teenage groping/dry humping session from earlier.

Undeterred, Emily gave it one last valiant college try, putting her ample cleavage on display in a bid to get Christian's attention. Ana was tempted to accidentally spill some champagne down her low-cut dress.

Christian ignored Emily's well-endowed assets and merely stared at Ana, as if she were a skittish animal about to bolt. He hadn't budged from her side, his arm still draped possessively on the seat behind her. Whenever Henry spoke, he was tempted to snake his arm around her shoulder but didn't want to violate their unspoken truce.

"Want to dance?" Emily asked Ana, surprising her. _Maybe she's giving up on Christian? Or she just wants to lure me away so she can move in for the kill?_

"I love this song," Emily shrieked, jumping to her feet to dance to Pitbull. _Actually, I love this song too. Bitch has good taste in music._

Ana decided to set aside her mean girl nastiness and join Emily on the dance floor.

"Want to dance?" she turned to Christian. "I LOVE Pitbull!"

Her excitement was infectious, but Christian knew that if he went on that dance floor with Ana, he wouldn't be responsible for his actions. Plus, he had a lot of skills but dancing wasn't one of them.

"No thank you. I'm actually a horrible dancer. But you go and have fun. I'll watch our seats."

"Are you sure?" she asked half-heartedly, rearing to go before the song ended.

"Yes really. I'll be here when you get back," he promised.

She didn't need any more encouragement and leapt to her feet. Christian watched her like a hawk, keeping an eye out to ensure that Henry stayed out of her way. _I'll knock that douchebag's ass back to the hostel if he goes anywhere near her._

Ana may have been uncoordinated in real life, but she came into her own on the dance floor. Christian's eyes were glued to her hips as she sensually swayed them in tune with the music. When a techno version of "Sweet Dreams" came on, she went crazy, jumping up and down and flailing her arms in the air.

Christian was hypnotized by her inhibition. She had rhythm, the implications of that swirling in his head. Her face was flushed, the strap of her tank top kept falling down and her hair was in total disarray. _She's a mess. She's beautiful._

She was also a friend. He'd honor his pledge to her, but there was no denying that Christian wanted her. He wanted to shove her up against the wall, plunder her mouth, bite her delicate skin and drive his body into hers. He wanted to take her as hard as he could and give her everything he had in return. He wanted to feel her pinned beneath him, with nowhere to go, naked, sweaty and begging him for more. And he wanted to hear her scream his name as she came for him, her body trembling while he pounded it into oblivion.

 _Shit!_ He adjusted his pants and scrubbed his face trying to get the wayward thoughts out of his mind. But what really disconcerted him, what downright terrified him, was that after fucking her senseless, all he wanted to do was spend the rest of the night talking to her.

Fuck it, he thought, getting to his feet. _One dance won't hurt._


	8. Chapter 8: PLANES, TRAINS AND WILD RIDES

_**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**_ _Please keep the reviews and feedback coming — I love reading them all! I especially love it when people can relate to Ana's struggles. That's really the point of the story — I want to make it as real as possible. I also hope people like what I did with the email exchanges — I tried to make them clever._

 _And if anyone has suggestions for how to get more followers, please pass them along. I'm still trying to figure out this fanfic site. Next up after this is their date. And don't worry, the story will earn its "M" rating — and then some — soon :)_

 **CHAPTER EIGHT: PLANES, TRAINS AND UNPREDICTABLE RIDES**

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Smooth ride?**

 **Date: September 15, 2015, 10:11 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **I hope you survived your flight and did not cause too much of a ruckus :) I also hope you left a little vodka behind for the next group of passengers.**

 **I am only kidding. They replenish the drink carts.**

 **In all seriousness, I hope you were at least able to enjoy first class this time around and it took your mind off any turbulence. I see online that your flight has landed safely. I am sorry I could not escort you to the airport, but I could not miss my business side trip to Shanghai, which, in case you were wondering, is not remotely as scenic as Paris.**

 **Email me once you are rested and recovered from your inevitable hangover.**

 **Best,**

 **Christian**

Grinning like a loon at her laptop, and indeed recovering from her hangover-induced headache, Ana tried to come up with a witty reply in her slowed mental state. She was still reeling from her upgrade to a first-class private suite, which Christian assured her was the result of a personal favor that did not cost him a dime. _Bullshit._ But she didn't protest and went along with his well-rehearsed charade.

If business class was opulent, first class was obscene. How much flatter can a person lie down on a bed, she wondered, marveling at the excessive redundancy of wealth. The added seat pockets and upscale goodie bag were nice and all, but they didn't negate the fact that if the plane crashed, she'd still go down with it. In fact, she'd be among the first passengers to be squished on impact. But even Ana had to admit that first class took the edge off flying. A hunky hedge fund manager in business class does the trick too, she thought lewdly.

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Smooth talker**

 **Date: September 15, 2015, 10:35 a.m.**

 **Dear Christian,**

 **I did indeed survive — in style — thanks to you. I suspect you have more money than sense but I'll stop giving you grief for your generosity and extend my heartfelt thanks for bestowing it on me. The upgrade — and the pampering that went along with it — were an unexpected treat. I had no idea well-heeled travelers were so coddled, and I'm afraid that you've spoiled me for all other forms of transport :)**

 **Needless to say, I'm home now and, despite the first-class treatment, I look like I just emerged from coach, so I'm off to take a nap and avoid unpacking or grocery shopping for a bit longer. I hope your flight to Shanghai was equally pleasant, despite the change in scenery.**

 **Your eternally grateful travel companion,**

 **Ana**

Grinning like a loon at his phone, Christian ignored the horde of Asian businessmen vying for his attention at the dinner table. Shanghai was insufferable but Ana's entertaining emails were the highlight of his day — while his memories of their brief time together in Paris kept him warm at night.

Of course he paid for her upgrade — a pretty penny for it, too. It was a small price to pay to give her an experience she'd never had — and to ensure that Henry, who for some inane reason was flying out to D.C. for a blogging convention, was safely out of her way.

Christian's rapacious business partners kept trying to ply him with sake and women, trying his patience. But the shrill sounds of their broken English faded into the background as he focused on typing out a reply before Ana fell asleep.

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Gratitude appreciated**

 **Date: September 15, 2015, 10:40 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **It was my pleasure to ease your in-flight panic attack and I appreciate that you have stopped nagging me over whether I paid for the upgrade (I reiterate, I did not). Besides, it was the least I could do after you took me on a tour of your favorite cafés along the Seine. Thank you again for purchasing that lovely photograph for me— I will hang it in my office.**

 **My flight was not nearly as memorable as my previous one, but it was tolerable (I was alone, so naturally I was a happy camper). Unfortunately I cannot say the same for my current circumstances, as I am surrounded by a cacophony of sycophants trying to pick my brain for insider trading tips. You would not be a happy camper either. I am eating eel at the moment, one of the less-exotic delicacies on the menu. I hope you fill your fridge with good old American burgers and fries and get some rest. Sweet dreams.**

 _ **Your**_ **eternally grateful travel companion,**

 **Christian**

Christian read over his flirty missive _._ His emails usually consisted of brusque one- or two-line commands, not playful banter and smiley faces. _Jesus, can I be any more transparent? I'm about as a subtle as a whorehouse in Texas._

He knew he was going overboard, not with the gifts — the money didn't matter to him — but with the attention he was lavishing on Ana. He never felt a desire or need to pursue any woman before. They gravitated to him and if they didn't, they weren't worth his time.

After all, when you run a major investment firm, time is a precious commodity. Which is why he dropped all pretenses in his pursuit of Ana. Christian enjoyed spending his time with her.

 _And I'm not going to waste any more of it on this friend horseshit. Courtship may be a novel concept, but I'm enjoying the challenge of the chase._ _And I'm especially looking forward to the endgame: fucking her._

He smiled smugly, hit send and resumed picking at his slippery entrée.

Her eyelids drooping, Ana couldn't tear herself away from her inbox. She reread the string of innuendo-laced emails Christian had sent since leaving for Shanghai two days earlier, puzzled by the conundrum in front of her.

What does this guy want from me, she wondered. _Stop being dense Ana. He wants you! The man is treasuring a $10 oh-so-original photograph you bought him of the Eiffel Tower while he probably shelled out 10 grand on your flight. What do you need, a dick slapped across your forehead?_

Ana ignored her vulgar subconscious and adamantly refused to accept that Christian was interested in her. _I'm a novelty for him — someone who stands up to his crap — and like all novelties, I'll wear off._

Still, Ana couldn't help but indulge in the possibilities of her newfound friendship for just a little while longer.

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Slithery companions**

 **Date: September 15, 2015, 10:50 a.m.**

 **Dear Christian,**

 **My condolences on your dinner companions. I am sure your entrée is as slimy as your tablemates, based on your previously colorful descriptions of their company. Eels huh? Between that and my natural aversion to Chinese food, I'd definitely be like a fish out of water — hehehe.**

 **Sorry, after a long flight that was the best I could come up with. I heard a lot of Chinese cities also have a public sanitary problem with people spitting in the streets. Sounds like an appetizing place.**

 **OK, I'll stop disparaging another culture and sounding like an ignorant ass. Have a bite of eel for me, assuming it stays still for you, and remember that vodka makes everything go down better. Goodnight!**

 **Your picky eater,**

 **Ana**

 _Your? Should I keep saying that? Oh fuck it!_ She hit send before her head hit the pillow.

A few days and dozens of snarky emails later, Christian arrived home in New York City, where Ana fortuitously had a job interview for a financial news wire service the following day. Instead of brushing up on economics though, she anguished over whether or not to tell Christian she was coming up to Manhattan.

"Could I look like any more of a stalker?" Ana debated to herself out loud as she finally filled her empty fridge with groceries. "'Oh hi, I know you just got home from a trip halfway around the world yesterday from but I thought I'd drop in and say hello?'

"Has he given you any indication that he doesn't want to see you?" she asked, playing devil's advocate as she waged her internal tug of war. Finally, Ana concluded that a visit was too much, too soon, and that she'd just say the interview was a last-minute thing if it ever came up in their emails.

While struggling to read an old college economics textbook she had dusted off, Ana heard the welcome ping of her inbox. Unbeknownst to her, Christian had been waging a similar debate in New York, plotting excuses to see her in D.C. Unlike Ana, however, he threw caution to the wind.

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Capital sights**

 **Date: September 17, 2015, 3:14 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **I survived both a long-haul flight and long-ass trip to Shanghai and am fully recuperated. I hope you are doing well. Unfortunately I cannot make myself at home yet because another out-of-town meeting requires my urgent attention tomorrow, but my consolation is that it is in D.C., your hometown. I was hoping if you had some time you could show me around. Like Paris, I have never bothered to take in the sights of our nation's capital.**

 **Your inexperienced, unpatriotic travel companion,**

 **Christian**

 _Oh shit! Talk about crossed wires. He's going to be down here while I'm up there._

Disappointed she'd miss his visit, Ana decided to come clean about hers.

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Big Apple bypass**

 **Date: September 17, 2015, 4:48 p.m.**

 **Dear Christian,**

 **It looks like we'll be passing ships in the night. I'm actually heading up to your neck of the woods on Friday for a job interview — at a financial news service no less. I know, I know — it's a stretch of the imagination even for me, but my job hunt is getting desperate. I plan on bullshitting like the best of them and using a lot of hedge fund/venture capitalist buzzwords that have no tangible value but make me sound knowledgeable. I am so sorry I'll miss you — hopefully we can meet up next time.**

 **Your in-demand, economics guru travel companion,**

 **Ana**

 _You've got to be fucking kidding me! Now I have to come up with a lie about the business meeting I just lied about._ Christian shook his head, amused. _Oh the webs we weave when we try to deceive. Wait, that doesn't sound right. Whatever — she's the writer. Time to salvage this mess and come clean — sort of._

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Nothing beats the Big Apple**

 **Date: September 17, 2015, 4:55 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **Congratulations on your job interview. I will simply push back my D.C. meeting — that's the benefit of running your own company. I could use the downtime after nearly two weeks of nonstop travel anyway and would like to show you around** _ **my**_ **city. How and when will you be arriving? I can arrange a flight up to make things easier — another perk of being a frequent flier.**

 **Able Manhattan tour guide at your disposal,**

 **Christian**

Ana let out a squeal of excitement, thrilled she would get to see Christian after all. Her job prep took a backseat to hammering out a clever reply.

 **To: Christian-Grey**

 **From: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **Subject: Big spender**

 **Date: September 17, 2015, 5:10 p.m.**

 **Dear Christian,**

 **While I appreciate your natural sugar daddy inclinations, another flight is the last thing on my wish list. Even 30 minutes of turbulence is half an hour too long. My interview is not until 2 in the afternoon, so I was just planning to take one of those nifty buses I'd heard about that cost a buck and have TVs in the seats — most likely an upgrade from the seats on American carriers anyway. If you absolutely must satisfy your inner sugar daddy, however, I will gladly let you foot the (one dollar) bill for my bus ride. I look forward to seeing you in New York!**

 **Your unfriendly flier,**

 **Ana**

 _Sugar daddy huh?_ Christian laughed at Ana's eloquent way of phrasing the obvious. She'd won the battle, but not the war.

 **To: Anastasia-writing-editing**

 **From: Christian-Grey**

 **Subject: Planes, trains and automobiles**

 **Date: September 17, 2015, 5:16 p.m.**

 **Dear Ana,**

 **Since no one apparently taught you how sugar daddies operate, I will give you a brief tutorial: You do not refuse their gifts :) But I've decided to let your transgression slide given your irrational fear of flying and have purchased you a (nonrefundable) train ticket. The details will be arriving in your inbox shortly. Because you are a thrifty traveler who is conscientious about my bottom line, I expect you to accept my gift because the ticket is nonrefundable and you would not want me to lose money on the deal. I will pick you up at the train station at noon and we can grab a bite before your interview and I will give you some pointers on mastering the world of finance. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.**

 **Your presumptuous instructor,**

 **Christian**

He closed his laptop, savoring his victory. Christian was almost tempted to end his email with "Your sugar daddy," but even that was too lascivious for him.

Lascivious thoughts did plague him the rest of the day, however, and cost him a good night's sleep.

Christian was cranky and antsy by the time he arrived at the train station, but his bad temper dissolved the minute he saw Ana step off the platform. His stomach fluttered with something unfamiliar. _I probably should not have skipped breakfast._

Ana spotted him instantly as well, much like every other female on her train. Eyes locked, they migrated toward each other amid the throngs of distracted travelers.

Smiling warmly, Christian clasped her shoulders and leaned down to kiss Ana's cheek, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through them. Her breath hitched. Good, I'm getting to her, he gloated. _Because she's fucking getting to me._

"Good trip?" he inquired, hanging onto her shoulders.

"Free trip," she replied, throwing him a playful look of disapproval.

"It was the least I could do. You've grown accustomed to traveling in style so I couldn't let you down. Come, let's get you ready for your interview," he said, slinging her small overnight bag over his shoulder. _This will be at the foot of my bed tonight if I have anything to say about it._

"Thank you for the train ride and job tips. I guess now you qualify as my sugar daddy _and_ financial mentor," she said slyly. _Oh geez Ana, way to lay it on thick!_

He laughed, soaking in her sarcasm after a one-week absence, his eyes sweeping over her body in carnal appreciation. _She looks radiant._ Ana thought she looked practical. She wore a simple grey pencil skirt that hugged her curves and a flowing white blouse. As if anticipating her outfit, Christian donned a matching light grey suit that fit him like second skin, highlighting the well-defined biceps that rippled beneath the expensive fabric.

They gawked at each other like love-struck teenagers as they made their way off the platform, the chemistry a tangible entity between them.

"How often do you work out?" she blurted out. _Smooth Ana! Now he's going to know exactly what you were drooling over._

He chuckled, arrogance personified. "Almost every day. I get up around 5 a.m. to lift weights, run a few miles etc. Do you jog?"

She snorted. "The only time you'll catch me running is if a large animal is chasing me. And the only time you'll catch me awake at the butt crack of dawn is if said large animal is in my bed about to eat me. Even then I might sleep through it."

"There are some things that even you might not sleep through Ana," he murmured suggestively, his lips grazing her ear. He heard her barely audible gasp and saw the barely there blush stain her cheeks. The knowledge that he exerted a measure of control over her body was a heady rush. _Shit I've got to speed this courtship up or I'll combust._

Taking the initiative, Christian interlaced his fingers with hers as he led her through the bustling train station. Ana relished the feel of his large, safe hands around hers, but wouldn't give him the satisfaction of admitting it.

"I know you've seen me in action at the airport, but I assure you I can find my way around a train station. I may get a little lost, but I eventually get there," she said, quirking her brow at him.

"I know, but it'll be quicker if I guide you Ana," he replied, alluding to more than her nonexistent sense of direction.


	9. Chapter 9: PRIDE AND PRETENSION

**CHAPTER NINE: PRIDE AND PRETENSION**

Ana plopped herself in the leather car seat with a dramatic huff, the hopeful expression on Christian's face falling once he saw her scowl.

"I take it the interview did not go well," he asked cautiously.

"I bombed," she simply said, her lips pursed.

"How can you be so sure Ana? Maybe it wasn't as bad as you think," he said encouragingly. _Can I put my hand on her knee? No that would be weird._

"Trust me I know. It was a bunch of old white guys around a table looking at me like I was some exotic creature and patronizing me with softball questions because they assumed I didn't understand money matters — which I don't, but that's irrelevant. And you know who they'll wind up giving the job to? Another old white guy," she complained, her voice dripping with disdain, arms crossed against her chest. _She's cute when she's pouting._

"Be fair Ana. A man will probably get it but he might not be that old," Christian joked, trying to lift her spirits — not entirely out of the goodness of his heart. _This is really going to kill her mood for other things if I don't turn it around quickly._

A ghost of a smile tugged the corner of her mouth, though Ana stubbornly refused to give into it.

"I saw that," he ribbed her. "Try and look on the bright side. You had a firm grasp of the basics at lunch. I'm sure you blew them away. You're just being hard on yourself."

"Your sunny disposition is really putting a damper on my pessimism, so could you kindly stop it? I didn't get the job OK," she said emphatically, refusing to look him in the eye in case he tried to make her laugh again.

"Has anyone ever told you have a very negative perception of yourself?"

"Yes, practically everyone."

And she was annoyed that of all people, Christian — who prided himself on being cutthroat to conquer the business world — was adding his name to the list. _How many times has he been that patronizing interviewer?_

"I worry about your self-esteem issues Ana. Self-deprecation will only take you so far in life," he chided her.

"Are you calling me out on being negative? Hello pot, meet kettle," she snapped, squinting her eyes at him. "You once told me that you assume a 'no-nonsense' persona to get ahead in life — 'no-nonsense' being a euphemism for 'rude.' Well, negativity is my defense mechanism to get _through_ life. No one can cut you down if you've already done it all on your own," she informed him coldly.

Fidgeting in his seat, Christian struggled to respond to her unprovoked attack, a pang of hurt flashing across his face. Ana pinched the bridge of her nose as her foot-in-mouth disease reared its ugly head again.

"Oh Jesus I'm so sorry Christian. I just called the person who paid for my train ticket and spent his busy afternoon trying to help me nail a job interview rude. That doesn't just take gall. That takes fucking Chutzpah!"

She slumped in the plush leather seat. "This damn job search has just battered my confidence. I feel like I'm sending resumes into an empty void and missing out on the secret to acing interviews that everyone else seems to know about but me. Still, that's no excuse for taking it out on you. I'm really sorry. Please forgive me Christian."

She looked at him with those powder blue eyes, unaware of the power they wielded. He was already putty in her hands.

"Don't be sorry Ana. I know how stressful searching for a job can be. Well, I don't actually, but that doesn't mean I can't empathize," Christian said, astounded by the uncharacteristic amount of patience he had for this woman. _If anyone else had spoken to me in such a manner, I would've fired them, reamed them, sued them or tossed them out of the car. Instead, I'm wracking my brain for ways to help this girl out of her predicament. I hope I get credit for this at some point tonight._

"Would you like me to put in a good word at the news wire? I may know someone," he asked sheepishly. He knew everyone there. One phone call and she'd have a job. _Closer to me._

She grasped his arm, appalled by his well-meaning but over-the-top offer. "Don't you dare Christian!" she shrieked, before softening her tone. "I mean, errr, please don't. That's way too much. I really appreciate it but I couldn't possibly ask that of you." _Train tickets and plane upgrades are one thing, but calling in personal favors to get someone you barely know a job? Hellstotheno!_

"OK, OK, I get it," he laughed, throwing up his hands to feign surrender.

Crisis averted, she released his arm. He instantly felt the loss. "Good," she exhaled. "I think you're taking this whole sugar daddy metaphor too literally. Don't worry, something will turn up. I'll keep plugging away at it. Looking for a job is full-time work, but fortunately when you're unemployed, you've got nothing but time on your hands. Seriously, though, I've been a monumental bitch to you and haven't expressed my gratitude for everything you've done for me."

"There's no need to thank me Ana. _Your_ no-nonsense attitude is refreshing. I like that you don't feel obligated by my wealth. People usually are, saying what they think I want to hear in an effort to wring more out of me. The phoniness grates on my nerves. Let me take a page from your book and be blunt. I don't have any qualms about spending my hard-earned money. You wouldn't think twice about buying me a cup of coffee. Why should I think twice about paying for something that doesn't put a dent in my wallet but makes you happy?"

"I didn't even buy that cup of coffee I'd promised you in Paris," she sulked.

"I'll put it on your tab. But you know what I mean."

"I suppose that has some perverse logic … for a millionaire," she tried to cajole him. Ana may have denied it to herself — as if she were somehow above knowing — but she was dying to confirm his millionaire status.

"Yes I am, a few times over," he bragged, "although most of my assets are tied up in my company or other stocks in my portfolio, so if you're trying to rob me of my millions, you'll need to brush up on the finance tips I taught you at lunch," he taunted her.

"In that case we'll stick to the sugar daddy thing," she retorted, regretting the blatant innuendo as soon as it rolled off her tongue.

A lewd grin spread across his face. _Now she's getting the idea._

Her cheeks burned. _Stop giving him ideas Ana!_

"Don't worry, I can still afford to buy you a proper dinner. In fact, we're here. Come."

Christian's hand lingered at the small of her back as he escorted Ana inside the sumptuous restaurant tucked into a discreet side street. Immaculately folded linen napkins rose like little soldiers from the rows of perfectly aligned tables, while heavy drapes cloaked in red-and-gold embroidery lined the windows, obscuring the view for passersby outside. Inside, the appetizing scent of freshly baked bread wafted through the room, along with a musty whiff of privilege and pretension. In short, it was the ideal venue for the nouveau riche to flaunt their newfound wealth, Ana thought uncharitably.

Christian strolled in with an air of elitist confidence that she sorely lacked at the moment.

"If I'm going to be your New York tour guide, it's only fair that I take you to the best restaurant in town. Pierre Flambeau is a top Michelin-rated chef and he flew in specially from Paris to cook for us tonight," Christian leaned in, his eyes scanning hers to see if she was thoroughly impressed.

Ana was rendered speechless by the extravagance of his gesture. _This guy doesn't do subtle does he?_

"Wow, this is … amazing Christian," she said, whistling through her teeth and looking up to admire the frescos painted into the cathedral-like archways. "It's so unexpected. I … I'm really underdressed for this. Should I change or something?" _Even though all I have are jeans in my bag. Smart move dipshit._

"Don't worry about it. They're here to cater to us. You could be wearing a sack and they'd serve us," he smiled.

 _Or, you could've just complimented me and said I looked nice._

As if to illustrate his point, Christian summoned the hostess, who stood _more_ than ready to assist him.

 _Oh geez did he seriously just snap his fingers?_

"Grey party," he tersely informed the Russian-looking beauty with slathered-on mascara who was busy putting on airs herself — and putting her ample bosom on display. "Right this way Mr. Grey," she purred, enunciating his name in a thick accent. _It's four letters. Is it really that hard to pronounce? She won't even notice if I roll my eyes since hers are glued to my date._

Ana scrunched her nose at the young woman, much to Christian's chagrin. _She's jealous — good sign._

Arm locked around Ana's waist, Christian led her toward a secluded alcove dimly lit by lantern sconces on the wall. A mass of waiters nodded deferentially as they parted like the Red Sea to make way for them, as if they were royalty. Ana stifled a giggle at the outlandish production.

She was flattered by Christian's attentiveness, and she wasn't blind about his licentious intentions. But Ana was also realistic about her chances. _When a newer, shinier model comes along — and there are plenty of them, as that hostess so kindly demonstrated — I'll be kicked to the curb, especially once he sees what's under my hood. That's how guys like this operate Ana. Don't get sucked in._

So she politely nodded when Christian pulled out the throne-like chair for her, unaffected by the regality of her surroundings — or him. Her aloof indifference only fueled his determination to woo and win her over.

Christian ordered a 57-year-old bottle of wine from the restaurant's private cellar, speaking to the headwaiter in flawless French. When the dapper older gentleman with a graying beard and dark-rimmed glasses returned, Christian signaled for him to give Ana the first sip.

She sampled the vintage Bordeaux, doing the requisite swirl even though she didn't know what she was looking for. "Fruity? Tannins. Umm, good," she affirmed to both men who were awaiting her reaction. _With a hint of citrus, lavender, oak and all that bullshit. Just pour the damn wine!_

The waiter did just that, presenting her with the cork in a grand flourish while another waiter readjusted the napkin that had accidentally slipped from her lap. Food as theater, Ana mused. _At all these restaurants, the waiters try so hard to be unobtrusive but just wind up being more of a nuisance._

She looked down at the brittle cork in her hands. _What am I supposed to do with this? Smell it? Take it home as a souvenir?_

Sensing her amusement, Christian cocked a conceited brow at her. "Opulence doesn't impress you my dear?" he asked, expecting to shame her into an apology.

"Pretension doesn't." The words tumbled out before she could stop them. He visibly winced. _Jesus can I install some kind of filter already! Put that cork in it Ana!_

She reached over to grab the hand resting on top of the table, boldly caressing Christian's knuckles in apology. Dig quickly forgotten, he was overjoyed by the public display of affection she initiated — intertwining her fingers with his own to ensure that she couldn't pull away once she realized her mistake. Sure enough, she began to blush and tried to snatch her hand away but it was too late. He had her. _Good call Christian._

He doesn't miss a beat, Ana thought, marveling at his resilience. Still, she wanted to make amends for her ambivalence. _Stop pissing on the man's parade woman. He orchestrated an entire culinary show for you!_

"I'm sorry Christian. This dinner is extraordinary. I feel like we've switched roles from the plane, where you were apologizing for your behavior and now I need to apologize for mine. I'm really licking this gift horse in the mouth aren't I?"

"Did you just call me a horse on top of insulting me?" Christian asked in jest.

She coughed her wine back into the glass, and they both erupted in laughter.

"Is this another one of your laughing fits Ana?" he goaded her. "And you still have to finish that wine by the way. It would be pretentious to order a brand new 57-year-old bottle."

That set her off and she began howling uncontrollably, Christian joining her in a fit of his own.

Her shoulders shook as the silent giggles roiled her body, tears flowing down her cheeks. Her happiness was contagious and Christian laughed right alongside with her, prolonging her agony.

"Oh shit I'm sorry. I'm one of those people who laughs at a funeral. Once it starts I can't stop it," she said, dabbing her tears with the crisp white linen napkin as her hysteria finally died down. His own belly ached.

 _When was the last time I laughed so hard? Look at her, she's glowing!_

"You look beautiful by the way. I should've said it earlier."

 _Damn he's suave — and perceptive!_

As always, Christian's unabashed attention had a sobering effect on Ana. Cheeks flushed, she lowered her head and smiled demurely.

"Thank you," she murmured, her mouth suddenly dry. _I am going to drink that glass of wine actually._

"You are such a paradox Ana — brashly self-assured on the one hand and frustratingly insecure on the other," Christian observed, his eyes trained on hers.

A crease appeared on her forehead as Ana pondered his words.

"I wouldn't say I'm particularly self-assured or insecure. I simply know my intrinsic value, my 'net worth' as a human being, to put it in your terms. So maybe that's why I'm a little less materialistic than some other women. I've been on both sides of the coin: I had a lot and lost a lot. A comfortable lifestyle didn't buy me happiness," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Christian grimaced, the truth of her words mocking his own seemingly limitless lifestyle.

"Don't get me wrong, money sure as hell helps and being broke stinks," she was quick to add. _Remove foot from mouth Ana!_ "And I don't think I'm insecure per se. I'm just conscious of my flaws. I'm old enough to know that I've got plenty of them — enough to fill this beautiful restaurant and then some," she prattled on. "But it's true that I could care less what people think of me at this stage of my life. Age is neither kind nor fair to women, but it has taught me to accept myself, for better or worse, and I suppose that translates to the like-it-or-leave-it attitude you pick up on," she said, taking a nervous swig of wine.

As usual, Ana was oblivious to the effect she had on Christian, who sat there chastised and beguiled by the childlike prism through which she viewed life. "I like your attitude Ana. I like you," he said quietly, eyes boring into hers as he reached for her hand again. She averted his fierce stare but threaded her fingers with his. He felt like thumping his chest like a caveman. _One small step for man…_

Refusing to release her hand when he gave the menu back to the waiter, Christian had just finished ordering their four-course meal when an errant thought struck him.

"Do you like French cuisine Ana?" he asked, brows knitted in concern. "If not, we can go somewhere else. It's no problem. I just assumed since we ate at cafés in Paris..."

"Oh no it's fine," she interjected, wanting to reassure him that his effort hadn't gone unnoticed. "I love French food. This is wonderful. It's been forever since I went to a Michelin-star restaurant."

"You've been to one?"

"Oh sure. I used to go all the time," she replied nonchalantly, taking a sip of water.

"Really?" he tried to mask his surprise.

"Oh yeah. I ran a newspaper remember? That was one of the perks of the job: Hotels, restaurants and PR folks would try to schmooze me and since I was the editor, I had my pick of the litter in terms of assignments. So I wrote a lot of travel and dining reviews, getting the five-star treatment at top resorts and restaurants.

"My husband was actually the main beneficiary of the mollycoddling," she giggled before looking up to see Christian's reaction at the mention of Jose. _He doesn't seem to be weirded out. That's the pitfall of sharing a life with someone — and then splitting up with them. All your stories involve them, even if they're no longer involved with you._

Christian smiled benignly, gritting his teeth but nodding for her to continue.

"He got to enjoy the pampering while I had to do all the work and write about it afterward! But for those first few years, we were the envy of all our friends — trips to Morocco, Belgium, Turkey; overnight stays in posh resorts; Swedish massages and spa days. I even once had an 18-course meal, which really borders on the ridiculous. I mean really, just serve the damn entrée already instead of deconstructing every single ingredient! I thought I was going to starve!"

"It's like a strip tease huh — just get to the point already," he threw her a devilish grin.

"Just like a man — everything reverts back to sex," she giggled, shaking her head.

"Only if you're a lucky man," he said, lips twitching in a repressed smile. Her hand became clammy and Ana tried to pull it away but Christian clung to his prize. "So why did you stop taking advantage of the perks?" he offered as a consolation.

"Oh, they all started to bleed into one big pompous splurge. And honestly, we felt like imposters, mingling with the upper crust on our middle-class salaries. Don't get me wrong, everyone was nice, but we related more to the butlers than to the businessmen who ran these places. Still, the experience afforded me a window into a different world and I'm always grateful I got to glimpse how the other 1% — _you!_ — live," she said brightly, tearing off a chunk of bread and dunking it into some kind of buttery-herb-olive oil mixture.

Christian's six-foot frame towered over hers, but he had never felt smaller. He just assumed she had never been to a high-end restaurant and that he could wow her with his wealth. But as always with Ana, she flipped his assumptions — and well-ordered world — upside down.


	10. Chapter 10: READY TO RUMBLE

_**Author's Note:**_ _OK folks, one more chapter of banter and flirting and your patience will be rewarded. The next not one but TWO chapters will earn this story its "M" rating. And they're all written so you won't be left waiting. I hope I didn't get too into the weeds with this dinner date, but I wanted to build up the anticipation and also show the quirks of their personalities, interactions and future conflicts. Thanks so much for following along and for all the feedback. I love every bit of it so please keep it coming! It's always so nice to know that you're not just sending your story into no-man's land :) And btw, the SocialSharer thing is a reference to a certain social media giant who shall remain nameless in case there's any copyright infringement ;) Enjoy!_

 **CHAPTER 10: READY TO RUMBLE**

"So what was your most memorable experience during one of these five-star stays?" _And can I top it?_

Ana cocked her head to the side, chewing her lip. Christian avidly watched.

"There was one time we stayed at the Washington Eclipse, that stately historic property by the White House. They put us up in the presidential suite, which is usually reserved for heads of state. Over 5,000 square feet of space, something like $10,000 a night and it was decked out in this imperial red-and-gold décor scheme reminiscent of Versailles — kind of like this place!"

He smiled. "I'm choosing to take that as a compliment Ms. Steele."

"It is Mr. Grey," she assured him, returning his smile. _Fuck is she flirting with me!_

 _Stop trying to flirt Ana. You wind up looking like you need to use the bathroom or something._

Her lips tightened. "Anyway, after we jumped up and down on the king-size bed and made use of the Jacuzzi, we didn't know what to do with all that space. So we took the tablecloth off the ginormous dining room table, stood at opposite ends and played paper football. Then I slid across the hardwood floors in the living room à la 'Risky Business,' only I wasn't as smooth as Tom Cruise so I busted my ass. I had to hobble into the five-star dining room later that night because I had a huge bruise on my hip."

Christian laughed alongside Ana picturing her klutziness, though he could've done without the visual of her and another man in a Jacuzzi. _Only this girl would play paper football on a table where international treaties are probably signed._

"What about you?" she asked, her cheeks rosy from giggling.

He looked at her quizzically. "What? Have I done the Tom Cruise slide? Sorry can't say that I have."

"No silly, although who hasn't done that slide? But I digress. You've traveled the world and stayed in all kinds of places. What was your most memorable moment? Or at least something fun you did? Besides trade stocks."

Christian literally scratched his head.

"Fun? Ummm, sex, I guess," he replied matter-of-factly. Ana snorted out her wine again, triggering another bout of hysteria.

"What? You asked!" Christian exclaimed, playfully nudging her shoulder.

"Ahhh men," she sighed, taking in a big gulp of air. "One-track minds. One-track minds."

"I know, I'm a cliché. The millionaire playboy," he leaned in, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"You're inexplicable."

He did a double take. "You have such a remarkable way of phrasing things Ana."

"I sure as hell better. I'm a writer," she reproached him.

"And a damn fine one based on what I've read." She quirked her brow at him. _Shit, she knows I've been studying up her. Change the subject._

"You're equally inexplicable Ms. Steele. There's nothing one-dimensional about you."

"Oh I'm not as complicated as you give me credit for," she said, deflecting his praise. "Besides, we're all clichés," she began, going off on another one of her signature tangents that Christian increasingly found endearing.

"You know that social media site, SocialSharer? I'm like everyone else — I only put up the most awesome, flattering photos of myself. I always say there's the SocialSharer, cookie-cutter version of you and the real-life version. A friend once told me that she saw my pictures and wished she had my life. I told her I wished I had that life too!"

"I'm quite curious to see your page then. I'm actually barely on there. I find it tedious. One of my exes finally convinced me to set up a profile and then all my other exes flocked to it. That pretty much guaranteed that I steered clear of it."

"So it's an unvarnished window into your love life eh?"

He chuckled. "I suppose so. You're more than welcome to connect with me and access my page if you're so inclined." _I spy on you digitally baby. Might as well return the favor._

"No thanks. I'll keep my cyber-stalking to a minimum," she laughed.

"Just as well perhaps. I have no intention of your mug shot ever joining my lineup of exes." _What the hell are you implying Grey? That you'll never break up with this girl? You're not even dating for God's sake._

 _Yeah yeah I get it Mr. Humble Hotshot — I'll never be the type of girl you date._

Christian awkwardly cleared his throat, wanting to erase the twinge of hurt he saw flicker across Ana's face. "I'll still send you a connection request. Since you've already overlooked my real-life stalking, the least I could do is extend the same courtesy to you online."

"That's OK," she waved him off dismissively. "Honestly the site irks the crap out of me too. The most annoying are those cryptic crisis postings begging for sympathy. You know, the ones that say something like, 'Please pray for me. We need all the strength we can get.' Pray for what?! How can I pray if I don't know what I'm praying for! It's like an evil cliffhanger — drives me nuts."

"That's not as irritating as the parents who post 10,000 photos of their kids taking a bath and then complain about how the internet exploits children."

"Or the people who have 4,000 connections when you know they have a maximum of four friends, on a good day," Ana lobbed back, enjoying their game of one-upmanship.

"Or the people who put up every trivial aspect about their lives. 'I sat in traffic today.' Congratulations, so did a billion other people."

"Not all of us get to sit in gridlock in the comfort of a chauffeured backseat Mr. Grey," she scolded him.

"Touché my dear. But they still take selfies of themselves while driving — instead of driving — no doubt contributing to the congestion."

"In my defense, I've never taken a selfie. On principle, I don't think anyone over the age of 30 should. But I am guilty of the humble brag — though I always acknowledge it's a humble brag before I put up some exotic picture of whatever beach I'm lounging on."

"So you and your husband traveled a lot?" Christian inquired, pleased with his clever segue into her past.

Ana got whiplash. _Wait, weren't we just talking about selfies?_

"Umm yeah, most of Europe and then random spots here and there. It was our 'thing.' We loved to explore new cultures, see how other people lived, escape our boring, everyday existence so to speak."

"Was he as scared of flying as you are?"

"Oh no, we were diametrically opposed on that front. He loved it, except that he'd always step off the plane with huge welt marks on his arms from my nails digging into them." _She didn't reach for my arm on our flight._

"He's actually the reason I developed my vodka coping mechanism. We were young and naïve when we started flying internationally and were astounded that the drinks were free, so we always went overboard," she smiled, recalling a mile-high moment. Ana promptly took a sip of wine to indicate that she was done throwing him crumbs about Jose.

Christian felt as if he had been catapulted him back onto their flight, where he spent seven grueling hours trying to extract personal information out of her.

He let the silence stretch out to compel her to talk.

As usual, Ana's radar misread the signals.

"I'm sorry Christian. I don't mean to keep talking about my husband. Old habits die hard. It's just that after all those years together, our stories are so inextricably linked that it's impossible to separate them — pardon the pun."

"No, I don't mind at all," he insisted, wriggling his way into the tiny crack she inadvertently left him. "How long have you two been separated by the way?"

"Six months."

 _Pulling teeth._

"Do you still talk to each other?"

"Not as much as we used to."

 _A dentist couldn't yank out her teeth with a truckload of Novocain._

 _Why is this commitment-phobe so fixated on my marriage?_ Ana took a deep breath and decided to toss him a bone.

"It was a pretty bad break — more like a schism. He had a hard time accepting it at first but he's since moved on."

"Have you?" He leaned in closely to gauge her reaction.

"I suppose," she said evasively, popping a pan-seared scallop into her mouth.

He mimicked a spinning ball with his fingers, motioning for her to elaborate.

"I date, if that's what your spinney fingers are hinting at. I dabbled in the world of online matchmaking," she shrugged her shoulders, the uncharacteristic brevity of her responses frustrating him.

Christian drummed his fingers loudly on the tabletop. "Now you're stalling."

"Oh good grief — give your fingers a rest. Yes I did the online dating thing. It was exciting at first, but bizarre. I was like a dinosaur from the prehistoric, pre-texting world of dating. But I was also pleasantly surprised. The men were a lot more normal and decent than I imagined them to be. It was convenient actually — like an assembly line where you check off your ideal traits. And I can't deny that it was a major ego boost when my inbox got flooded with prospective suitors vying for my attention."

Under the table, Christian's hand balled into a fist. "So did any of them succeed?"

"A few," she replied, thwarting him again.

"And…"

"I also met a few doozies," she said, dancing around his question like a savvy politician. "One guy was a financial something or other — like you — and he drank himself into a stupor on our lunch date because I think he was about to be convicted for insider trading the next day. Another one barely spoke to me for three excruciating hours, but the minute I got home he asked me for another date. I was like, 'We said eight words to each other. Why would you want to see me again?'

"Never mind, don't answer that," she corrected herself. "One-track minds. He probably wasn't interested in talking."

Christian's fingernails were beginning to leave an imprint in the palm of his tightly closed fist.

"But eventually it began to feel like homework. I couldn't keep up with the emails and got sick of giving the same spiel over and over again, perpetually explaining my backstory. Like all novelties, it wore off," she said, giving him a pointed stare.

Retrieving her reporter cap from Christian, Ana decided to turn the tables on him.

"Do _you_ use those dating websites?"

"No I don't," he said curtly, his mind still stuck on Ana's array of digital suitors.

She tapped her fingernails on the tablecloth in a pronounced fashion.

"Now who's stalling? Give and take Mr. Grey."

The feel of her admonishing sapphire eyes jarred him back to the present. "Excuse me Ms. Steele. You're right — as always," he bowed his head. "My dating life is usually an extension of my professional life. I typically meet women at work-related functions or through business associates or even occasionally through my exes."

"Holy crap! So let me get this straight, you've built up a referral network of women, from the women you used to date! That takes mad skill."

He chortled with pride.

"Now you're giving _me_ too much credit. To be honest, they were a young, impressionable bunch. They were as risk-averse to commitment as I was, so …"

"It was a mutually beneficial arrangement," Ana finished his sentence, rolling her eyes. "I remember your lovey-dovey description from Paris. So what was the average age of this 'bunch' of girls?"

"I don't know, mid-20s I suppose." Christian could see through the narrowed slits of Ana's eyes that she did not approve. "No, sometimes late 20s," he added in a feeble attempt to defend himself.

"Hmmph, you must've raided the retirement home to find those old biddies," she sniped, her tone laced with scorn. _Does this guy think a woman's boobs melt or something after the magical cutoff age of 30? That if you have one wrinkle you no longer qualify to serve in his harem?_

Christian had touched a raw nerve. Ana was well past her 20s but competing with that generation, both professionally and personally. Her fuse of indignation and insecurity was lit and about to explode.

"I'm sorry but that is a bit cliché Mr. Grey" — _and I'm not using your last name in a cutesy way either._ "I'm sick of the whole 'I'm incapable of dating women my own age' load of hooey that older men spew to justify their vanity and fear of being challenged by their equal," she hissed, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. _Geez Ana, tame that feminist roar. The man's just being upfront with you._

Duly chastised, Christian took a long chug of wine, cautiously eyeing Ana over the rim of his glass. _I'm not the one who apparently has a whole army of suitors lined up in my inbox. Fuck, look at her. She's really pissed! Salvage this sinking ship before she gets away!_

"Let me explain Ana" — _even though I've never had to before._

"No Christian wait," she cut him off, feigning indifference. "You don't owe me any kind of explanation whatsoever. Your private life is your business." _And it's just that — business-like._ "I have a nasty habit of spewing out things you're not supposed to say in polite society. Just ignore me." _And put this date out of its misery because we're clearly on two different wavelengths._

Christian's throat constricted at the prospect of their date going south. He could feel her walls crashing down on him.

"No Anastasia, please let me just say something," he began, trying to hide his obvious distress. "I have dated older — ahem — women my own age before, but I find I cannot meet their expectations. They know what they want out of life, as do I, and the two are usually not mutually compatible. Whereas with younger women, I will be perfectly frank, they tend to be less complicated, more transient. They're not looking for anything serious — nor am I — so when we invariably part ways, it's more amicable. I'm sorry but as I told you in Paris, I'm unapologetic about my lifestyle" _— even though I just apologized for it. Fuck, she still looks disappointed! Maybe I should apologize again?_

Christian anxiously scanned her face, waiting for her response with bated breath. It was Ana's turn to down an inordinate amount of wine.

 _Why are you letting this guy crawl under your skin? You won't see him after tonight anyway. He'll probably shove you in a cab and bang that 25-year-old Russian hostess._

The unpalatable thought stirred her inner bitch, but it also put Christian into perspective for her. Listening to his dispassionate portrayal of relationships, Ana's anger receded and was replaced by a strange kind of sorrow. _This man has never experienced love. It's the worst force in the world but also the best, and his life will be destitute without it. All that money but he's emotionally bankrupt._

"Ana, tell me what you're thinking," he asked, the nervous edge in his voice snapping her out of her reverie. _Show him a 35-year-old can be amicable too._

"I'm thinking that I'm a colossal hypocrite Christian. I gave you a pious speech on the plane about how no one has the right to judge other people, yet here I am guilty of not heeding my own advice. I'm sorry. I'm older and re-entering the dating world after an 8,000-year hiatus, so I guess the age thing is a sore spot for me. I'm just a bitter 35-year-old soon-to-be divorcee. Don't pay any attention to me," she sighed, her voice slightly faltering.

His chest tightened, her vulnerability crushing him. Christian grabbed her hand before she could whisk it away under the table.

"You're a beautiful 35-year-old woman and I'm glad I met you. And I want to get to know you better if you'll keep an open mind and give me a chance. You're probably stepping outside your comfort zone for me too," he quietly pointed out.

She gave him a sly smile. "Understatement of the year."

"Precisely. So perhaps we could be the exceptions to each other's rules," he said hopefully, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. _Jesus Christian did you just lay all your cards on the table? You're not even out on a limb; your fat ass broke the branch and toppled the tree._

Ana's cheeks were on fire and her head was spinning trying to solve the riddle in front of her. One minute, he was a chauvinist pig, and in the next he transformed into a scared puppy dog.

"Like I said Christian, you're inexplicable, and it'll take more than one dinner to figure you out, so of course I'll give you a chance." _Oh holy hell Ana, did you just ask yourself out on another date!_

Christian's face erupted into a megawatt smile, just as their elaborately constructed entrées arrived.

"Bon appétit," he said brightly, digging into his truffle-encrusted steak. But Christian couldn't shake the fear that Ana was going to pigeonhole him as a serial philanderer.

"And actually, just FYI, my last girlfriend was 34, so I don't discriminate my dear," he said, carefully studying her reaction.

"Well that's good to know. I won't slap you with an age-discrimination lawsuit then," she giggled, taking a bite of her flaky sea bass. He exhaled. "So what happened? Why did it end?"

"It just fizzled out. In fact, it didn't end amicably with Veronica. She refused to accept that it was over and kept calling and emailing. She was actually the one who set up my SocialSharer page, probably as a last-ditch effort to stay together. It was all rather inconvenient for a while."

Christian stopped, realizing he had caught Ana's diarrhea of the mouth. _Did I just try to prove to her that I'm not an insensitive ass by making myself sound like an insensitive ass?_

Ana bit her lip to stifle her laugh but it was a lost cause — much like Christian, who was already laughing at himself.

"I know, I'm hopeless," he threw his hands up in the air.

"No not at all. OK, maybe just a little," she chuckled. "Seriously Christian, I know it's not my place to lecture you but you should realize that you're an amazing catch and maybe have a little more sympathy for these girls. It can't be easy to snag a guy like you and then lose you. Getting dumped burns — no matter what the age."

Christian moved his chunks of meat around the plate, castigated and contrite. He mentally resolved to stop badmouthing Veronica. Then a light bulb went off when he replayed Ana's words. _Did she just throw me a lifeline?_

"An amazing catch eh?" he gloated, flashing her his all-American-boy smile.

 _Oh boy, this guy has a rebound rate of two seconds!_

"Out of that entire statement, that's what you heard?" she laughed at his juvenile egotism. "I think you're missing the gist of what I'm saying."

"So you don't think I'm amazing?" He crossed his hands over his injured heart, fishing for a compliment. "Let me guess, you only think I'm a good catch on paper. In reality, you think I'm a glorified stockbroker — or a lowly adolescent boy trapped in a grown man's body. You wound me Ms. Steele," he teased, daring her to deny it.

"Humility doesn't suit you Mr. Grey," she narrowed her eyes at him, stepping up to the plate.

"Bullshit doesn't suit you."

She gave him a knowing smile. _So don't fall for his and you may come out of this alive Ana._

 _Keep it up Christian and she'll be eating out of your hands in no time._

But by the time dessert arrived, she wasn't, and the pressure was on for Christian to up his game.

"So where are you staying tonight? You never said." _Even though I've been trying to weasel it out of you since the appetizer._

"Oh I forget the name of the hotel. You can just drop me off in Greenwich Village. I've got the address written somewhere in my purse," she replied, eluding his attempts to pin her down yet again.

"Why are you being so mysterious Ana? I've been trying to wrangle this out of you all night," he finally conceded.

"Oh I'm well aware. In addition to humility, subtlety is not your strong suit. OK, I'll tell you, but only if you promise not to have a millionaire freak-out moment on me."

He was about to freak out.

"It's a hostel," she said, her tone hushed, as if the word was too filthy to utter in the refined grandeur of their surroundings.

"A hostel," he whispered, glaring at her like she had just committed treason.

"Yes Christian, I'm on a budget, remember?" she said as if speaking to a child. "But it's one of those new-age hostels," she quickly added to reassure him. "Chic and trendy. Lots of hipsters — I'll probably be like their den mother."

Suddenly, Christian's blood ran cold.

"Wait, is Henry going to be there?" he demanded to know, his tone vaguely accusatory.

Her brows crinkled in confusion. "Who? The blogger from Spain? Umm, no, he's in Spain. Where did that come from?"

"Uhhh never mind. For some reason I just associated him with hostels. Let me get us a refill on the wine." Christian craned his neck to locate their waiter, his suave façade temporarily slipping.

They polished off another exorbitantly priced, ambiguously fruity wine. Ana regaled him with stories of her online dating exploits in her typical scattershot fashion, while Christian peppered her with questions in his compartmentalized CEO style, jotting down mental notes. He had been on countless dates over the years but had never conversed with anyone as easily as he did with Ana. _Probably because I never cared what they had to say._

So by the end of the date, Christian was scrambling for ways to extend it.

"Thank you Christian. That was an excellent meal," Ana said, slipping her arms into the jacket he was holding out for her.

"My pleasure. Want to go for a walk? It's a nice night." He twined her fingers with his and began leading her down the street, not bothering to wait for an answer.

She smiled to herself. _Presumptuous much Mr. Grey?_

Christian watched as Ana gawked at the vertical wall of Manhattan skyscrapers with childlike wonder, making sure she didn't stumble. Around the corner, a seedy bar caught his eye. _Dinner was a bust, so maybe it's time to go in a completely different direction._

"Do you play billiards Ana? There's a pool hall over there."

"I love pool," she screeched, flashing him a breathtaking smile that made his heart, among other things, swell.

Inside Pete's Pool Joint, the dingy, faded-yellow walls matched the dilapidated, sticky floor, but the only thing Ana noticed was the jukebox.

"'Sweet Home Alabama' — I love this song," she clasped her hands together, exuding enthusiasm.

"I take it you like dive bars then my dear."

"Oh I like hip-hop clubs, five-star restaurants and hole-in-the-wall bars. My tastes are eclectic Mr. Grey," she batted her eyelashes at him, the Bordeaux giving her a shot of liquid courage. His dick stood at full staff.

She mistook his silence for indifference. _What did I tell you about flirting Ana? Now he probably thinks you're constipated._

His slight was quickly forgotten when the jukebox began playing "Motownphilly."

"I love this one too! Doesn't this song take you back?" Ana beamed.

"I don't really remember it," Christian shrugged.

"Hello! Boyz II Men, ABC, BBD, the East Coast Family…"

All she got was a blank stare.

Ana stared back at Christian, equally mystified.

"Have you been hiding under a rock Mr. Grey? This is a classic! Mmm nnnaaahh, mmm nnnaaahhh," she belted out, humming the lyrics.

"You're a horrible singer," he laughed.

"And you're a horrible dancer," she parried back.

As always, their verbal jousting kept him on his toes.

When it came to pool, however, Christian was a graceful pro. Ana was not, flubbing most of her shots. But Christian graciously let her win each time, drinking in the sight of her bouncing up and down in victory.

He also capitalized on her inexperience, leaning in close to give her pointers on how to aim for the pockets. When Christian wasn't hovering over her, he sat back and adjusted the rising tent in his pants as he watched her stretch her body over the contours of the table.

Ana may have been a novice at pool, but she quickly caught onto Christian's game, missing most of her shots on purpose to get a firsthand lesson. A tremor ran through her when Christian covered her hands with his own and bent her over the table, pressing his groin into her behind as he cued up the ball with her.

A preview of tonight baby, Christian thought, breaking into a fine sheen of sweat at the intimate contact.

Suddenly, the sound of shattered beer bottles pierced the din of the jukebox and a scuffle broke out by the bar.

Ana instinctively moved to get a closer look but Christian just as quickly yanked her back to him, caging her in his arms. "Whoa Ana, you're supposed to run away from danger, not toward it. Stay here with me," he instructed sternly and held her fast to him. She gave him an exaggerated pout but relaxed into the protective sanctuary of his arms.

Christian wasn't worried about the two kids duking it out at the bar. He was a brawler in college and still boxed in his free time, so he could easily hold his own if the spat came closer to Ana.

But just as quickly as it started, the commotion was over and the two drunks were kicked out. Christian didn't let Ana go, though, seizing his opportunity. He snaked his arms more firmly around her waist, his warm breath blowing past her ear and tickling her cheek. She didn't object, leaning into the solid expanse of his chest. She could feel the wild pounding of his heart, which matched the erratic rhythm of hers.

Everyone else faded into a blur as Ana and Christian became singularly focused on each other, hyper-aware of each vibration their bodies made. The steady cadence of his breathing hypnotized her, while the rise and fall of her chest entranced him. It was a moment suspended in time — one Christian was not going to squander.

"Come home with me Ana," he whispered in her ear, the low timbre of his voice making her knees turn to jelly. He squeezed her tightly to him, relishing her gasp when she felt the blatant arousal jammed into her back.

Christian tipped his head back in agony. _Fuck if we don't get out of here I'm going to bend her over and take her right now. But I don't want to let her go just yet._

So he didn't, imprisoning her in his embrace and trailing a line of butterfly kisses along the soft slope of her neck. "I want you so much," he confessed, almost inaudibly, his erection straining the confines of his pants and digging into her spine.

 _Oh shit, this is really happening. I'm going to need some more really old wine._ Ana grasped the strong arms holding her upright as she fought to control her breathing, her throat on fire.

"Let's go then," she replied, the huskiness in her voice sounding alien to her own ears.

He didn't need any more encouragement, throwing the waitress a hundred-dollar bill as he hauled a shell-shocked Ana out to the car.

Sitting in the backseat, with one of the finest male specimens she'd ever laid eyes on, Ana's bravado vanished and her nerves set in.

 _Did I shave this morning? I've been out all day — my boobs must be so sweaty. And why the fuck did I have to wear sensible underwear today of all days? Because you didn't think you'd be having sex with a freaking underwear model Ana!_

A few inches away, the only thought that repeatedly ran through Christian's mind was regret — regret that he didn't have a privacy divider installed so he could fuck her in the backseat. Christian swallowed, furiously rubbing his hand along the bottom of his mouth. This is going to be the longest car ride ever, he thought, unconsciously scooting his body toward the middle seat, while Ana squirmed in hers.

Both of them survived the 15-minute-long ride, immersed in each other while making inane small talk about French wine and bar fights. When they exited the car, Christian kept his arm cinched around Ana's waist but stepped away from her in the elevator, afraid that if he got any closer they wouldn't make it to the apartment. The air crackled, a charge running between them as they stole furtive glances at one another.

The confined space made Christian envision all the ways he would finally take Ana, and all the surfaces he'd take her on. _I could just fuck her up against this elevator wall if it weren't for the damn cameras._ He looked over at her tiny form, her fingers knotted together in worry, and a nagging voice quieted the beast in him.

 _You wined, dined and steamrolled this girl Christian. Maybe this isn't what she wants. For God's sake, she's in a strange city with no place to go for the night, completely at your mercy. Hmm, completely at my mercy…_

A lustful grin spread across his face as he pictured the possibilities. In the end, though, his better nature won out over his inherent libido.

"Ana," he exhaled, "it's no secret what I want, but you don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. I'm offering you my place — no strings attached. The guest room is yours and you can have all the privacy you need. We can talk, hang out, whatever you'd like, or you can go to sleep."

 _Naked, with me, after I fucked you raw!_

Ana knew what she wanted, and it didn't involve talking or sleeping. _How many chances will you have like this Ana? Even if he ditches you in the morning, you will have had the time of your life the night before. Go for it girl!_

Christian watched in mute fascination as she slowly closed the distance between them, coming to stand directly below his chin and peeking up at him with doe-like eyes that did little to mask the wanton desire lurking behind them. His Adams apple's bobbed up and down and his lips parted to accommodate his labored breathing.

"I appreciate that Christian. But I'm a big girl and I know what I'm doing — and exactly what I want," she said, her smoldering gaze leaving no doubt as to what that was.

"I know what I want too Ana," he growled, splaying his hands around her hips and jerking her into his raging erection, "and I think we're finally on the same page."

When the elevator pinged, Christian's legs suddenly felt like lead, but he wasted no time sprinting across the hallway to his front door, dragging Ana behind him — a man on a mission.


	11. Chapter 11: ABOUT TIME

_**Author's Note:**_ _I think the title of this chapter says it all :) Plenty more to come. Feedback welcome. Enjoy!_

 **CHAPTER 11: ABOUT TIME**

Christian swooped in before the door even closed, crushing Ana's lips to his with enough force that they both felt the metallic tang of blood. Swallowing her whimpers of surprise, he wasted no time plunging his tongue down her throat, their teeth clashing. He was dying to taste her again and tilted her head so she could bear the full brunt of his passion. Their hands were frantic as they explored all the dips and curves each had been fantasizing about for two weeks.

"Christian," she moaned, her ardor matching his.

"I'm here baby. I'm right fucking here," he growled, grabbing a fistful of her hair at the roots to keep her firmly in place while his tongue dueled with hers.

He finally tore his mouth away from their searing kisses long enough to suck and nip at the creamy skin on her collarbone, making her shiver, before dropping to his knees with a loud thud. There was just no time for foreplay. He hiked up her skirt up and tore off her sensible yet flimsy panties, inhaling her drenched sex and giving it a long lick before crawling back up for another punishing kiss.

Lifting her knee for leverage and pinning her against the wall, Christian began to grind his massive erection into her. Ana felt dizzy as she tugged on his hair and held on for dear life. All she heard were his harsh grunts and his belt buckle clatter to the floor. Still devouring her mouth, Christian grabbed a handful of her ass and lifted her with well-practiced ease. Without warning, he impaled her on his engorged cock, a wave of sweet relief washing over him.

"Oh God," Ana screamed at the sudden intrusion, throwing her head back in unadulterated bliss. She felt so complete. He was enormous, in size and girth, every thick inch of him stretching and filling her to the brim. Christian buried his face in the crook of her neck as he stilled, overcome by the warmth enveloping his throbbing cock.

"Fuck! About fucking time," he let out a guttural moan, weeks of pent-up frustration disappearing the minute her tight, silken walls clenched him. _Finally!_

He slowly slid out and pushed himself impossibly further back in, burying himself to the hilt as her wetness coated him. _She's so ready for me. She wanted this as much as I did._

Ana wrapped her legs around his waist in a vice-like grip and Christian began to thrust, languidly at first but then with increasing ferocity as his control slipped. She clutched his sweat-soaked shirt, enjoying the feel of his flexed muscles as she peppered his face with hot, wet kisses. Christian's mouth latched onto her neck as his hand slid down to knead her breast, roughly pinching the nipple and sending bolts of electricity coursing through her.

"Yes, more please. Harder," she begged incoherently, her throaty moans driving him mad with the primordial need to take her, to subdue her.

Christian began to pump into her mercilessly, slamming her against the wall so hard her back was sure to bruise.

"Yessss," she hissed. It was raw, primal and bordered on the edge of pain, but she welcomed every bit of it. He was hitting her womb, causing her to cry out. He'd climb inside of her if he could.

"Christ you feel so good," he groaned, their mouths colliding in unrestrained frenzy.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop," she pleaded, clawing at his back, his hair, anything she could get her hands on.

A tornado would not have stopped him. Christian pummeled into her with all the strength he could muster, every muscle on fire.

One arm still deftly holding her up, his other hand gave her breast one last unforgiving squeeze before sliding down to rub and tease her clit. She threaded her fingers through his hair, mewling in desperation.

"That's it baby, that's it. Let me feel you," he encouraged her, his thumb torturing her. She was soaking his hand and meeting him thrust for thrust as he drove into her with reckless abandon.

"Oh fuck," she screamed, arching her back in ecstasy.

"That's right. I want everything. Give it all to me Ana," he urged, angling her hips to go deeper while suckling the delicate skin of her neck.

Christian felt her walls begin to quiver around him and he redoubled his effort, a fine sheen of sweat on his brow. His balls ached and he knew it wouldn't be long.

"Now Ana. Shit, you've got to come — NOW damn it," he commanded, his voice hoarse as he plowed into her.

No one had ever ordered her to come, and before she knew what hit her, Ana detonated in a bone-crushing orgasm that seized her from head to toe, her high-pitched shrieks bouncing off the walls like music to his ears.

"FUCK," he roared as her walls milked him of everything he had to give. He came like a freight train, convulsing so hard that his fist inadvertently punched the wall beside her as his release blinded him. Ana hardly flinched, her own body riding out the last crest of pleasure until she collapsed against him.

Weeks of waiting and anticipation had evaporated in the span of several unforgettable minutes. She clung to him like a ragdoll, sweaty but sated. They both fought to catch their breaths as she stroked his back while he gently nuzzled her neck.

Drained but replete, Christian groggily lifted his head to gaze at her, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Oh fuck," he exclaimed when he saw the hole he'd punched in the wall. _I didn't even feel that!_ "Jesus, I'm so sorry. I hope I didn't scare you."

"Honestly I barely noticed," she said with a shy smile. Absentmindedly, Ana wondered how many holes he's had to patch up in his apartment.

He smoothed the damp strands of hair from her face and gave her a tender kiss, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her cheek. Before she could overanalyze what had just happened, or make some smart-ass remark, Christian deepened the kiss, wanting to reassure her of how much he wanted this. How much he wanted her.

And he wanted more. Not releasing her from his firm grip, he shucked off the pants and boxers that had pooled at his feet and carried her to the bedroom without another word.


	12. Chapter 12: SHELTERING INDOORS

**CHAPTER 12: SHELTERING INDOORS**

Christian kicked the bedroom door and strode in, carefully laying her on his bed. Ana was still almost fully clothed, her skirt bunched up around her waist and blouse falling off her shoulder, a lacy white bra peeking out.

He took a moment to admire her, sprawled out for his viewing pleasure, before ripping off his dress shirt and blanketing her with his body. She tried not to gawk at the enormity of his erection. Smirking, he leaned in to give her a scorching, wet kiss before hovering over her, a devilish grin playing on his face.

Christian was going to savor her this time around.

He slowly unbuttoned the rest of her blouse, never once taking his eyes off hers. Mesmerized by his toned physique, Ana ran her fingertips over the ridges of his chiseled abs, her feather-light touches making his muscles dance and cock twitch.

 _Clever girl._ He needed to regain the upper hand or this would be over way too fast.

Christian quickly divested Ana of her skirt and shirt, trailing his tongue over every piece of newly exposed flesh before resting on his side next to her, propped up on one elbow. Clad in only a white bra, Ana felt self-conscious under his heated gaze and tried to squeeze her thighs together to cover up the wetness seeping out of her, but he only wrenched them apart.

"Oh no baby. I've been waiting to see all of you for far too long," he scolded her, making her impossibly wetter.

His fingers glided over her sternum before finally freeing each breast from the confines of her bra. _About fucking time,_ they thought in unison.

Christian reverentially traced the supple curves, cupping one swollen mound while planting open-mouthed kisses on the creamy skin of the other. "Beautiful," he murmured in appreciation. He laved both nipples with his tongue before blowing his hot breath to watch the tiny pebbles pucker for him.

"Christian please," she implored him, weaving her fingers through his hair to bring his mouth closer.

His chest puffed with pride when he saw her body writhe uncontrollably and her eyes flutter closed.

"Tsk tsk tsk. Patience my dear," he reprimanded her, giving her a sharp whack on the ass before squeezing the warm imprint he'd left behind on her skin. Her eyes flew open and he was rewarded with a long, raspy moan that made him hard as granite.

Taking pity on her, Christian gave the now-painfully erect bud one last lick before finally taking it in his mouth and sucking hard, tweaking the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

"Yessss. Fuck! More," Ana pleaded, arching her back as he expertly suckled her.

When he bit down on the overly sensitized nipple, she yelped, bolting upright. "Shhh," he soothed, holding her down.

He continued his ministrations, worshipping each breast with his mouth as his hand skimmed down past her naval to palm her sodden sex. Swiping his tongue along her collarbone, he dipped one finger inside of her, reveling in the warmth that greeted him.

"You're so wet, so hot," he moaned, crawling back up to lick the shell of her ear as he inserted a second finger into her at an achingly slow pace.

Whimpering when he began pumping his fingers in and out, Ana held onto Christian's bulging biceps and pushed back against his palm for more friction.

"Do you like that my beautiful girl? Do you want to fuck my hand?" he whispered, groaning when a flood of moisture saturated his hand. _Oh fuck yes she does!_

His face directly over hers, a bead of sweat dripping onto her forehead, Christian couldn't tear his eyes from her fathomless blue orbs, now darkened with lust. "I waited so fucking long to have you Ana. You have no idea. Too fucking long," he breathed.

Lost in his sensual confession, a stream of random thoughts flitted through Ana's mind. _Is he trying to make me feel guilty for making him wait all of two weeks? Is sex like a truth serum for men?_ But then all coherent thought went out the window when he sank a third digit inside her, curving his index finger to hit her G-spot while his thumb flicked the tight little nub of her clit, almost sending her over the edge.

 _Fuck this! My turn to give him a taste of his own medicine._

Exacting her revenge, Ana reached down to firmly grasp Christian's throbbing erection. He let out a feral growl, his forehead falling to rest on top of hers. She marveled at the feel of his stone-hard yet silky-soft member, looking down to see the bulging veins that gave it a purplish tinge. His breathing grew ragged as she stroked his massive cock with her dainty hand, rubbing her thumb over the pre-cum that had seeped onto the crown.

"Shit, you win, you win," he spit out through gritted teeth. "You want it you got it baby." He yanked her hand away and climbed on top of her, positioning himself at her entrance. But Christian wanted to toy with Ana just a little while longer, so he fisted the base of his shaft and lightly tapped it on her pulsating bundle of nerves, making her squeal in anticipation.

"Christian," she hiccupped, taking a big gulp of air.

"Is this what you want?" he asked, running the bulbous head along her slick folds, spreading her wetness as he prepared her. "Are you ready for me? Because I'm sure as hell ready for you."

"YES," she shouted, throwing her head back when he finally gave her what she wanted and slammed into her so hard her entire body flew off the bed. Christian fell onto his forearms to support his weight, his forehead barely touching hers. Fully sheathed inside of her, they both closed their eyes at the overwhelming sensation of completeness that descended over them.

"Fuck it feels so good to be inside you Ana. You fit me perfectly," he panted.

Christian smashed his lips down to give her a rough, wet kiss before rearing onto his haunches and hoisting her ankle over his shoulder for deeper penetration. He spread her other leg as widely as he could, hooking his hand beneath her knee for leverage, and began to piston his hips into her as Ana grabbed the headboard to brace herself against his attack.

She felt like she was being torn apart at the seams as he bucked wildly into her, spurred on by the exquisite bounce of her breasts every time he drove into her. He skated his thumb over her engorged clit, making her body tremble. "Suck," he ordered when he shoved the thumb into her mouth so she could taste herself, a gush of liquid heat drenching her thighs at the erotic act.

In and out, Christian repeatedly wound her coil tighter and tighter and kept her teetering on the brink but wouldn't let her fall.

"More, more, please," Ana whined, her forlorn wails echoing off the walls.

When he sensed her on the precipice, he slowed his movements, circling and grinding his hips as he filled her with meticulously controlled strokes. _Oh God I don't want this to end. Ever._

Ana cupped her heavy breasts, desperate to find some relief. The sight alone almost made him blow his load, so Christian lowered his gaze to watch in fascination as his cock expanded her tiny opening and disappeared into it over and over again.

"Look at me Ana. At us," he commanded. "Look at what you do to me. Christ we were made for each other."

All she could do was claw at the sheets and pray to the heavens that he would end his sublime torture.

Finally the enticing visual of their conjoined bodies became too much even for Christian and he dropped Ana's leg and laid his body on top of hers, his entire weight bearing down on her, flesh on flesh.

Stifling her protests with a savage kiss, he bit her bottom lip and swirled his tongue inside her mouth, ravenous for her sweet raspberry taste. Her chest heaved when he finally let her come up for air, but he wasn't done with her.

Christian clasped her chin with one hand and pinned both of her slender wrists over her head with the other, leaving her completely at his mercy. Ana went weak from his intense, almost angry stare. She found his domination strangely empowering, and willingly gave herself over to it.

With a devious grin, Christian resumed rolling his hips while he held her down, piercing her with long, methodical strokes as he forced his tongue into her mouth again, fighting with hers.

Her body bowed beneath his and he knew she was close. _Not yet Grey, not yet!_

He halted his movements again, causing Ana to cry out in frustration. On the verge of tears, she fought against the restraint of his ironclad grip, but he needed her total submission. "Tell me you want me Ana," he demanded, shaking her wrists, his gaze fierce and unforgiving. "I won't let you have this," he warned, pulling out of her until just the tip of him was inside, "until you tell me."

The sound of her begging was in every fantasy Christian had since that night at the club. He needed to know she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He needed to hear her say it out loud.

"I…yes…oh God," she stammered out, her head lolling to the side, overpowered and overcome by his brute strength.

Releasing her wrists he curled his hands at the nape of her neck, forcing her to look at him, nose to nose. "Say it!"

"Yes Christian, I want you," she wept. "Yes. Fuck me. Hard. Please, I need you so much!"

"Damn straight!" He placed his hand around the top of her head to protect it from the pounding he was about to unleash. She gasped when he barreled into her, her thrashing head cocooned in the safety of his hands.

"I've got you baby. I'll always take care of you," he vowed, hissing in pleasure when she dug her nails into his shoulder blades, slick with perspiration.

Their bodies fused together as he hammered into her relentlessly. "You feel so fucking good Ana. I can't get enough of you," he growled, his cock pulsing inside of her every time his balls slapped against her ass.

She felt suffocated but alive — his course stubble grazing her cheek, the rapid staccato of his breath in her ears and every blessed inch of him filling her to completion.

"Take me Christian. Take it all," she moaned, the beauty of her surrender making his cock swell and balls seize.

"Shit! You have to come for me Ana. I need to feel you around me. Let go baby. Fucking give it to me, now!"

Her body promptly obeyed, exploding underneath his in a violent spasm that stole the breath from her lungs. She just clung to him with everything she had left in her. Unable to scream, Ana whispered his name in a strangled, almost mournful sob that melted his heart.

He summoned the last vestige of strength in him to ram into her three more times, determined to wring out every last ounce of pleasure from her quaking body while chasing his own release.

"You're mine, every part of you," he groaned as his body erupted into an all-consuming climax that shook him to the core, his thick seed spurting into her in hot lashes as he bit down on her neck hard to leave his mark on her.

They both collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs, their eyes screwed shut as they tried to float back down to reality.

One hand still entangled in her hair, Christian kept her head pressed tightly against his, cheek to cheek. "For the record, in case it wasn't clear, I want you too baby," he joked, his chuckle muffled by the sweat-soaked pillow beneath him.

When she didn't reply, his head shot up in alarm.

"Are you OK? I wasn't too rough was I?" he asked, smoothing out the matted hair out of her face as he scanned it for any signs that he'd hurt her.

She just smiled and shook her head, too content and spent to speak.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" he asked smugly, bending down to taste her lips again. "Well at least now I know how to shut you up my dear."

"Mmm hmmm. And put me to sleep my dear," she mumbled, her eyelids drooping.

Grinning from ear to ear, Christian watched as she dozed off. He just shook his head in amazement. _Fucking mind-blowing_. He kissed her shoulder and took one last sweeping look at her before draping the covers over their naked bodies. Wrapping his arms around her, Christian pulled her snugly against him and let himself drift into a well-deserved rest.

Ana woke up from her deep slumber to feel nimble, ghost-like fingers fondling her breasts. Before she knew what was happening, Christian lifted her leg and without any preamble slid inside of her from behind. He reached around to massage her clit, panting heavily in her ear as he pumped in and out of her, urging her to let go for him. Her traitorous body readily complied, consumed by another ferocious orgasm as he spilled his seed inside of her, twitching and jerking against her back. Finally flaccid, he slipped out of her but kept her securely in place by his side as he fell back asleep. His face was a picture of serenity — hers one of disbelief. _Did that just happen or was I dreaming!_

The second time she woke up, light was streaming through the windows — directly into her eyes. She felt trapped by the heat of large limbs coiled around her, and a sharp rod stabbing her back. _Geez he's like a machine, even in his sleep!_

Ana disentangled herself from Christian's arms and tiptoed to the bathroom before he could get revved up again.

The reflection in the mirror stopped her in her tracks. She looked like a train wreck — like a train had run her over and literally backed up to do it again for fun. She had two purple hickeys on her neck, her lips were puffy and cracked, and her hair was a riotous mess of knots. She felt even more battered on the inside. Besides the obvious parts being sore, her back ached and her legs and arms were stiff. _Who knew sex could be such a workout? So this is the way to lose weight!_

She looked like shit but felt great — dirty yet refreshed, she thought with a wicked smirk. _But I sure as hell can't let him see me like this._ So she darted into the shower to clean up.

When she emerged, clad in a towel and looking a little less disheveled, Ana found one of Christian's T-shirts and his discarded boxers to put on, tying the top so the briefs wouldn't fall off. He was still snoring soundly in all his muscular glory on the bed. Poor guy's knocked out, she thought with arrogant pride. Ana didn't want to wake Christian, because he'd probably want sex again, so instead she made her way to the living room that she was too preoccupied to investigate last night.

It was vast and cavernous, punctuated by tastefully selected pieces of furniture and artwork. Every taupe-colored sofa and oak table matched seamlessly, as if they had come straight out of a catalogue. The space was warm but sterile, obviously decorated by a hired hand without any input from Christian.

Ana could only find two photos in the entire room: One tucked away on the upper shelf of a bookcase depicted Christian posing stiffly in a college football uniform, the number 22 emblazoned across his chest. The other showed him ringing the bell of the New York stock exchange, looking down at his horde of mignons.

He looked like a master of his financial universe, but she felt a twinge of sadness for her CEO. Other than the two pictures, there were no personal mementoes of any kind in his apartment. No framed family photos studded the walls; no used, comfy blankets were strewn across the couch; no tacky vacation souvenirs rested on the mantle. Even though Ana had to put most of her own photographs in storage since they were all of Jose, she still at least had a visual record to document the good times in her life.

Ana jumped when she felt familiar arms encircle her waist. Christian nuzzled her neck, a waft of minty breath breezing past her ear and snapping her out of her reverie.

"How are you feeling this morning baby?" he asked, giving her a suggestive squeeze. _Only this man can turn a salutation into a sexual invitation. And to think I was feeling sorry for him a minute ago._

"Well-worn."

"Good, then I've done my job," he smirked, giving her a loud thwack on the ass before heading into the kitchen. _Can't wait to tap that too._

"Want some breakfast?" he asked. "I usually just have cereal but I'm sure I have some eggs or something in the fridge. I can whip us up something if you want."

"No thanks, cereal's fine," she said, taking a seat by the island. After nearly a month of exotic excursions, Ana was enjoying the normalcy of watching Christian pour her cereal in his PJ bottoms. She enjoyed the sight of his exposed chest, too. "Cereal is pretty much what I 'make' for breakfast and dinner every day anyway."

"I take it you're not an avid cook."

"Let's just say I couldn't even boil those eggs you mentioned."

"Alright, no culinary skills to add to your resume. I'll just keep you out of the kitchen and locked in the bedroom then," he winked, practically giddy.

She crinkled her nose at him playfully. "You're not one of those chipper motherfuckers who drives everyone nuts in the morning, are you?" she teased.

"I am when I had sex three times the night before," he volleyed back.

"Well I hope you still have some energy left to show me around your town like you promised. You know I've never actually gone up the Empire State Building?"

"I'll take you anywhere you'd like to go Ana but truth be told, after last night, I might have other plans for you today," he said, stalking over to her like a predator — in heat.

Hands spanning the length of her hips, Christian nudged her knees apart to stand in between her legs. He pulled her directly into the part of his anatomy that was also ready to greet her good morning. _Speaking of…_

"What was that last night by the way?" she asked. "It was an unexpected wake-up call."

" _That_ my dear was not my fault. You wriggled your delectable ass against me in your sleep. I was the victim of your amorous assault and had to retaliate. In fact, I think some payback's in order for that tempting little get-up of yours," he crooned, a wicked glint in his eye.

"What? T-shirts and boxers?" she asked, puzzled, looking down at the enormous T-shirt that dwarfed her frame.

"Correction — _my_ boxers, which instantly makes me think about what's underneath them. In fact, let me double check," he said, slipping his hand past the waistband to tease her folds, already slick with want, before plunging a finger knuckle-deep inside.

She gasped, a look of shock etched on her face.

Sporting a self-satisfied grin on his, Christian bent down to graze his tongue on the shell of her ear.

"So wet," he whispered seductively. "Looks like this may have other plans for you as well," he said, pressing his thumb against her clit and making her hiss.

 _Come on Ana, you're not exactly a virgin. Two can play this game._

Her hands explored the taut muscles of his pectorals before knotting into his hair to bring his head down for scorching, drawn-out kiss. When she pulled away, a mischievous gleam in eye, she slowly licked her parted lips and watched in triumph as Christian swallowed, his hooded gaze turning pitch black. For good measure, she reached down to give his aching cock a light squeeze before peeking back up at him coquettishly.

 _That's my girl. I knew there was a little vixen underneath that proper exterior._

"Oh now you threw down the gauntlet baby. Be ready to deliver," he warned, picking her up effortlessly and running straight back into the bedroom, which they didn't leave for the rest of the day.

Fuck it, she thought. _I'll see the Empire State Building next time._


	13. Author's Note

Hi Everyone!

Just wanted to give a personal shout-out to thank people for all the reviews on my last chapter — glad I could get people hot and bothered :)

jayhawk78 – Hope you made it through Church :)

Christian618 – Ask and ye shall receive!

FanFicFanWI – There's definitely (sex) life after the age of 30 ;)

Pielietje – Funny that you mention New York — location is going to be something they have to resolve.

Sorry I can't respond directly to the guest reviewers but thanks so much for those as well. The best was someone who said they had to go wake up their girlfriend after reading my chapter. Haha love it!

I'm at **100 followers** – yay! – and would love to bump it up more so if you know one anyone who's interested in my story, please pass it along. It still seems like such an uphill battle to get noticed on this site.

Don't worry — I won't hold the story hostage waiting for more followers ;) I'm wrapping up the next chapter now and it should be up tonight or tomorrow. These two lovebirds are from such different worlds, so there's plenty to explore. I've only just begun!

Thanks again


	14. Chapter 14: MY PLACE OR YOURS?

**CHAPTER 14: MY PLACE OR YOURS?**

Even though Christian had seen Ana three weekends in a row, he didn't hesitate to twirl her in the air when he greeted her outside her apartment — an exuberant snapshot of two young lovers still high off the newness of each other.

He planted a noisy, sloppy kiss on her lips, groaning when she pulled away.

"It's only been four days since you saw me," she giggled, her feet still dangling in the air.

He heaved her up higher, grabbing her ass while she instinctively circled her legs around his waist. She felt him stir beneath her.

"Four long days of celibacy," he reminded her, a diabolical smile playing on his lips.

"Ahh, you poor little sex-starved millionaire," she threw him an exaggerated pout. "Life can't be all that tough — you got to play hooky on a Friday."

"Benefits of being the boss my dear. Besides, I finally don't have to make up a phantom business meeting as a pretext to come down and see you."

"Yeah that was pretty transparent. I had you pegged as a better liar Mr. Grey, being in the world of finance and all," she winked.

He chuckled. After a few days apart, Christian had missed their verbal sparring. That wasn't all he missed, he thought, carrying her bridal style to the bedroom, where they spent the next 24 hours making up for lost time.

Bathed in the afterglow of puppy love, and multiple rounds of fucking, Christian smiled down at Ana, who was nestled in the crook of his arms — conked out. He brushed some strands of hair out of her eyes and swiped the smidge of drool that had collected in the corner of her mouth, reveling in the mundane nuances of intimacy.

He even found himself enamored with the high-pitched wheezing sounds Ana made while she slept. _Hmmph, women don't snore my ass!_

Her ears ringing, Ana wheezed a little louder and accidentally brushed her hand over the patch of hair above his rising morning wood. It was a fatal move.

Christian traced his tongue along her lips before coaxing them apart to slip inside and rouse her awake with a hard, passionate kiss.

"Ewww," she screeched, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Morning breath!"

Amused, he refused to budge, nipping at her bottom lip.

"Don't worry my dear. Those aren't the lips I'm interested in anyway," he informed her, reaching underneath her T-shirt to run his fingers along the seam of her panties. "Bingo," he grinned salaciously, dipping a finger inside when he sensed her beginning to respond.

Ana's head lolled back onto the pillow, her eyes fluttering closed. _Oh shit, at this rate I'm never going to need an alarm clock._

Before Ana could process what was happening, he'd flipped her on her back, shred the offending panties and spread her open for him, sinking his now mammoth erection into her. For good measure, he ignored her earlier protests and captured her mouth in a searing kiss.

"You're incorrigible," she managed to mutter as he began gradually rocking his hips into her.

Brushing her teeth before Christian could pounce on her again, Ana jumped when he barged into her tiny bathroom. He tossed the toilet seat up and began doing his business, wearing a goofy grin and nothing else.

"Really? We're there already?" she asked incredulously.

"Please, after the fluids we've exchanged, don't go all church mouse on me."

"Still a little too close for comfort," she mumbled, looking away, toothpaste dribbling down her chin.

Christian finished up and smushed her into the corner to wash his hands. "Bathroom's all yours dear," he said, kissing off the minty green paste that had smeared on her chin.

Toothbrush hanging from her mouth, Ana watched in amazement as he yanked on a pair of boxers and flopped back down on the bed. She still thought Christian looked strangely oversize in her modest apartment, recalling his tepid reaction when he first saw it.

"It's actually an upgrade from the cramped room I had to rent shortly after I separated," Ana explained of her one-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment, located in the basement of a large house.

"And it's a great bargain for the location. There's a bunch of medical students from the local college who rent rooms upstairs, but I have my own private entrance so we're never in each other's way."

Christian grimaced. Ana kept trying to defend her little home.

"I know it's a little kitschy with the wood-paneled walls, but I think I've dressed it up well."

His fingers traced a line over the surface of her compact dining room table. "No it's nice," he mumbled, seemingly disgusted by both the décor and the idea of renting a basement apartment.

In truth, the only thing Christian found repugnant was the idea of Ana living below a bunch of horny frat guys. _I need to get her out of here ASAP._

He was working on it, but in the meantime, Christian was accompanying Ana to her first work-related reception.

"I'm excited to see you in your element tonight. I can't wait to see you work the room with your political prowess. I've been boning up on Syria and Greece to keep up."

"You're too cute."

 _Cute? I'll have to rectify that misconception with another fuck._

"It's just your run-of-the-mill charity gala," she shrugged. "Actually this one is more up your alley. It's a fundraiser sponsored by a lot of corporate bigwigs, so there will be more businessmen than government types. I'll earn about $60 to snap a few blog photos and I get two complimentary tickets. Then I'll probably zone out halfway through the speeches at dinner. Not a bad deal," she said, reaching for the bowl on her nightstand to pop a ripe raspberry in her mouth.

Christian smiled, remembering when he discovered eight boxes of raspberries sitting in her fridge. "It's my favorite fruit. I spend a fortune on them but I eat them like candy," she explained.

 _So that's_ _why she always tastes like raspberries._

Sprawled out on her bed, Christian watched as Ana flitted through a dozen identical black cocktail dresses in her closet — her standard-issue uniform for galas and receptions.

"We can still go to the store and get you a dress for tonight," he called out to her.

"Christian no! Look at my closet — it's already overflowing with clothes."

"That's because you're a rat pack."

"That's because women are smart and never throw anything away. That way, if you gain or lose weight, you've always got options. There's a method to the madness that simply goes over men's heads."

"Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm still taking you shopping for new underwear since I have a knack for ruining yours."

"Then stop ripping them off like a sex-crazed Neanderthal," she smirked, fishing out a classic knee-length number that accentuated her breasts.

"Nope I prefer my idea — we'll go lingerie shopping tomorrow," he winked, a sinful gleam in his eyes as he pictured the thongs he'd buy her.

Ana rolled her eyes, imagining the dental floss he'd want to buy her. But she really cringed when she thought about the spending spree Christian took her on last week. _More like a gluttonous splurge._ Store after glitzy store, she gawked at the price tags and the polished salespeople trying to convince her to spend Christian's hard-earned money.

She bristled when one of the saleswomen presented her with a $55 lipstick, gaping down at the little tube in her hand as if it were a turd. By the end of their shopping excursion, her ass was chapped from getting kissed so much.

Christian walked out of the stores baffled. Ana was the only woman who seemed to be repelled by his wealth, not attracted to it. _Her refusal to let me pay for a damn lipstick doesn't exactly bode well for the next big-ticket item on my agenda._

They hadn't broached the subject of their long-distance relationship, though it was a moot point since Christian was flying down to D.C. every week — but he was growing tired of the commute _and_ the separation. He had more space and work commitments in New York than she did in D.C., so his plan was to buy Ana an apartment in the city. Not only would it induce her to visit more often, he reasoned, but it would get her used to the idea of living up there.

 _But if she won't even accept money for a train ticket, how's she going to react to an apartment? Good thing I haven't mentioned my jet. Fuck it, she needs to get over this complex about money — it's_ _ **my**_ _money and she's_ _ **my**_ _girl… Oh just call a spade a spade Christian — she's your damn girlfriend!_

He was navigating uncharted territory — dating someone who had zero interest in his wealth — but then Ana unwittingly paved an opening for him.

"I'm sorry you've been coming down here so much. I can visit you in New York at the beginning of next month. My friend Kate is planning a trip up there so I'm going to hitch a ride with her," she said brightly, assuming he'd be pleased with the news.

 _Three weeks away? Fuck that noise._

"Actually I've been thinking about that Ana. I know a ton of real estate agents who owe me favors. I could easily get you set up with a property — just a _pied-à-terre_. That way you'd have a pad in the city and can visit whenever you'd like."

Ana dropped the hanger she was fussing with and whipped her head around, a look of absolute horror painted on her face.

"I'm sorry, come again? A pee-a-what?" she sputtered out.

"A weekend apartment … a small one," he added to appease her irrational fear of his money. "Just somewhere you can hang your hat — and expand your wardrobe. That way you could come up more often," he said, the cheeriness in his demeanor a sharp contrast to the revulsion rolling off hers.

"Why wouldn't I just stay with you?" she asked, bewildered. _Is he ashamed of me?_

"Well, you would, some of the time, but this way you'd have your space and I'd have mine," he bungled his words. _Is that what I want? Separate spaces? The whole point is to be closer to her. But what's the alternative, living together? Fuck I hadn't thought this through._ He scrubbed his face. "What I mean is, this way you could get used to the idea of being in New York more frequently."

 _Why? Does he want to move me up there? Permanently? Or just keep me around whenever he feels like fucking, at his skanky beckon call?_

She felt a rush of indignation surge through her veins.

"You want to buy me a place in New York? Are you insane?! I could never accept something so extravagant Christian. No! Out of the question!"

His jaw, and hopes, plummeted. He was confounded by her fierce reaction — and rejection of him.

She was stupefied by his testosterone-induced cluelessness.

 _Is this what he did with all of his girlfriends? Hole them up them up penthouses like some pimp daddy? Maybe sugar daddy was too kind!_

"What's your damn problem?" he asked, tearing himself off the bed.

"I mean seriously Christian? An apartment, like some fucking mistress?" she spat out, craning her neck up to meet his murderous glare.

"Don't be absurd Ana. Not a mistress — a _girlfriend_ for God's sake," he bellowed, his hot breath washing over her outraged face.

"Girlfriend or geisha?" she shot back. "One stays with her boyfriend Christian. The other gets a roof over her head _thanks_ to him. We just started sleeping together and you want to buy me a place to keep me around at your disposal? That doesn't seem a little, umm, 'Pretty Woman' to you?"

He was flabbergasted. "I…no. I just…" _want you fucking closer to me! How did you become a prostitute in this scenario?_ "Not only are you blatantly refusing to consider my rather generous proposal, you're also willfully misconstruing it," he said in a condescending manner that only incited her even more."

 _More like indecent proposal._

"Of course you'd stay with me most of the time. I simply thought it would be nice for you to have a place since you could never afford one on your own. Most normal people would jump at the chance to have an apartment in Manhattan Ana," he said, wagging a finger in her face.

"That's because most normal people don't aspire to throw $10,000 a month in rent down the toilet _Christian_ ," she muttered petulantly, smacking his finger away.

He rolled his eyes. "Well I'm not most normal people so it's high time you learned to accept that and get this 'wealthy people are below me' chip off your shoulder. Stop acting like an ungrateful brat and reading so much into this. I can more than afford it and it'll be a good investment, so it's no bother," he casually informed her.

 _Cocky rich finger-wagging motherfucker!_ She closed her eyes, because all she saw in front of them was blinding red-hot rage. When she opened them, she gave free rein to her self-righteousness.

"Christian, you have a very sophomoric, blasé attitude about money, which is your prerogative because you have a shit ton of it, but surely a man of your supposed intelligence can see how uncomfortable that arrangement might be for an average gal like me — no matter how convenient it might be for _you_. I'm neither a kept woman nor your charity case because I can't afford some overpriced hovel in an overhyped town," she said with barely restrained contempt.

His nostrils flared and his body physically shook with the effort to contain his fury. He was going to throttle this girl. _I just laid out being her boyfriend on a silver platter and she conveniently left that part out! Doesn't she know how many women would kill to be in her position? That's probably not going to bolster your case Christian. Stick to the facts._

"First of all, you have a neurosis about accepting any kind of charity Anastasia, and secondly, you wouldn't be a 'kept woman,'" he sneered. "You'd be a woman with a boyfriend who gives a shit about you and wants to see you. What are you flipping out about anyway? This would just be a place you could use whenever you wanted. It's for you, not me." _Not entirely true but that's an argument for another day._

She gave him a dubious glare. "Do I look like an imbecile? Give me some credit. It's just unsavory. Either way, I could never abuse your generosity like that and besides, I have a life here. I can't just get up and leave it behind for someone I hardly know."

Her unintentional jab slashed deep. _I'm nothing to her. She hasn't even acknowledged that I told her I'm her boyfriend._

"No job, one failed marriage, one friend and a shabby apartment hardly constitute a _life_ Ana," Christian roared, wanting to cut her down to size like she had done to him. His malicious riposte worked — all too well.

Ana recoiled as if she'd been slapped. She swallowed the ball of hurt lodged in her throat, stomaching the truth of his words. _I have nothing. I am nothing. That may be true, but I sure as hell don't need a boyfriend who lords it over my head._

"Fine, then I _had_ a life," she said, her voice cracking. "But it was still _my_ life, no matter how lame or unaffordable it is now, and I'm not trading it in so you can mold me to fit your life!" Her lip began to wobble and she turned to storm out the room, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her tears.

Panic settling in the pit of his gut, Christian grabbed her elbow and whirled her around before she could leave him. Ana kept her eyes downcast. _Don't cry. Don't cry._ His stomach roiled with regret when he saw her visibly shrink from him. She was literally limp in his arms. _What the fuck have I done!_

"Ana, please," he said, repentant and repulsed by his actions, tipping her head up so she'd look at him. His heart lurched when he saw tears brimming in her eyes, the wounds he'd inflicted staring back at him.

"I don't want to talk to you right now," she said meagerly, looking smaller than he'd ever seen her.

"No please Ana. I'm so incredibly sorry for what I said. I had no right to insult you like that. That's not what I think at all. I don't know what the fuck came over me. Please, please forgive me," he begged, one hand grasping her elbow while the other lightly traced her cheeks as if she might break — or run.

"I didn't mean to insinuate anything by my offer but I can see how it appeared," he continued when she didn't respond. "It was insensitive and crass. I think your life is phenomenal, and I only want to be a part of it. I just thought a place would make you want to see me more often. But I'll come down here every weekend — gladly," he pledged, beseeching her to look at him.

She sighed, deflated. For the first time she was genuinely hurt by Christian and didn't have the strength to trade any witty barbs with him.

"Don't be upset with me Ana. Please talk to me." The desolation in his voice thawed her heart, and she chose to forgive and forget.

She reached up to caress the unshaved stubble on his jaw as he closed his eyes in relief. "It's OK Christian. I'm not exactly the poster child for brain-to-mouth filters. You've forgiven me plenty of times for saying the first thing that pops into my head. I'm sorry too. I overreacted and shouldn't have questioned your motives. Let's just move on."

He bent down, briefly looking at her for permission before giving her a tender kiss to express his remorse. He planted lingering kisses on her nose, cheeks and eyes before he pulled back, anxiously scrutinizing her face.

"Are you sure? Are we OK?"

"Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to charge at you like that. Your offer just threw me for a loop and I jumped to the wrong conclusions. I shouldn't have gone all Defcon 5 like that," she said, pecking his cheek in apology.

"It's OK baby. I won't bring it up again. Like you said, let's just forget the whole stupid thing."

She gave him a forced smile, but the damage was done. The rest of the afternoon, he watched her retreat inward, closing him off.

Ana said she was going to spend a few hours sending out a stack of resumes she'd been neglecting — spurred on no doubt by my little remark, Christian thought glumly. He skulked off to the living room, agreeing to give her some space, while Ana stewed in self-imposed exile next door.

They were only 10 feet apart, but the divide between them grew wider. Christian picked at his cereal, sullen and morose — unaccustomed to being in a doghouse. He tried to clear out some emails, but all he could do was picture Ana's panged expression when he told her she had no life.

 _Christ, I managed to make her feel like a whore and a loser in one fell swoop. That takes skill Christian. I must've broken some kind of record for being a piss-poor boyfriend. She's probably in there right now trying to come up with ways to break it off. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

He raked his hands through his hair and slammed his laptop in disgust. Usually, whenever a woman gave him the silent treatment, he secretly welcomed the peace and quiet, but this was the worst kind of punishment Ana could mete out. Christian could handle her yelling and sarcasm; her crying and silence he could not.

Ana wasn't scheming to punish Christian, or even hold a grudge. But his words stung, tapping into the insecurities she had been trying to gloss over for months.

 _He's right. I'm about to get a divorce. I can't find a job. I can't balance a checkbook even though it adds up to a whopping $18. What kind of life do I have? He's by far the best thing in it, and once he realizes how much better he is than me…_

She shook her head, mentally beating herself up for beating herself up. _Stop it! He's obviously head over heels for you Ana. The man wants to move you up to New York so that he can be closer to you after only knowing you for a few weeks. It's sweet, in a deranged, snotty, stalker kind of way._

She glanced at the clock and gasped when she saw how late it was, sprinting to her closet to change.

Ana was zipping up her dress when the soft footfall of steps startled her. She spun around to see Christian in her doorway, debonair in a black suit, shuffling his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. _He looks more like a nerdy kid asking a girl to the prom than a hard-nosed businessman who executes million-dollar deals._

"Ana," he said timidly. "Can I talk to you?"

"Of course," she replied, walking up to dust off the lapels of his jacket as a peace offering. He smiled, resting his hands on her hips.

"I'm really sorry about today. I never meant to offend you with my idea, which was pointless anyway because I want you with me whenever you're in New York. It was a moronic move on my part."

"No, it was sweet, and I misinterpreted it. I leapt to some crazy assumptions and missed the bigger picture — that you're just trying to make us work, and that's what I want as well."

His face lit up. "You do?"

She gave him a toothy grin and he lunged for her, inching her against the wall so he could flatten his body against hers.

"Ana," he whispered on a prayer before slanting his lips over hers. She opened her mouth to him and he took full advantage, his kiss becoming more forceful as he hiked up her skirt to knead the soft skin of her inner thigh.

"Oh no Mr. Grey. I may not know you that well but I've become well acquainted with your 'friend' and I know exactly what he's gunning for," she laughed, ducking under his arms to finish getting ready in the bathroom. "We're not even fashionably late. We're just fucking late. Give me 10 minutes and we're out the door."

"Fine but at least let me fix your bra. The hooks are off," he said, unzipping her dress and adjusting the snaps. Once there, though, Christian couldn't resist sneaking in an open-mouthed kiss on her bare back, his friend making his presence known as well.

A tingle crawled up Ana's spine — not at his touch but at the memories it evoked. Jose used to tease her for always putting her bra on crookedly, fixing the clasps for her before they went out.

It was _their_ thing. So were these receptions. They were the highlight of their social calendar, allowing them to attend glamorous events that they otherwise could never afford. On the one hand, they were still young enough to enjoy the free food and booze. On the other, it gave them the chance to hone their networking skills as they hobnobbed with top officials and academics.

This was the first time she was bringing someone new and on some level, it felt like a betrayal of everything her and Jose shared.

Christian sensed her agitation but thought it was directed at him. "Sorry baby, I'll keep him under a leash and let you get ready," he said, zipping her back up.

 _Move on Ana. You knew this would happen one day._

She turned to straighten Christian's tie and gave him a warm smile. When he stood to his full height, Ana's stomach flipped, while her mind headed straight for the gutter.

"You look very distinguished Mr. Grey." And delicious, she thought, shooing him out before she could act on her impulse.

Christian already had plans to act on his.

He escorted Ana to the sedan he rented, maneuvering her around when she headed toward the passenger side of the car.

"No baby sit behind the driver." _That way he can't get a good look at you._

None the wiser, Ana took her place in the backseat, while Christian gave the driver clipped instructions and pressed the button to the privacy divider he presciently had requested.

Christian wasted no time bridging the distance between them.

"Baby I'm so sorry about today. Let me make it up to you," he crooned, one hand curling around her waist.

Before she could register what he was doing, Christian's other hand was hitching up her dress as he nipped at the sensitive spot below her ear.

"Christian no! We can't — the driver," she exclaimed, backing up to dodge his advances.

"Don't worry he can't see a thing. Just relax and let me make you feel good," he shushed her with a delicate kiss as his hand found its target. His fingertips began to gently skate over the increasingly wet silk of her panties, his tongue darting over her collarbone.

Ana swallowed. _Oh shit, this man's going to out-sex his way out of trouble every time. Fuck it! He can have his hall pass._ Her head fell back onto the seat rest as his overpowering masculinity invaded her senses and body.

Her quick acquiescence pleased Christian. He shoved her drenched panties to the side and, with careful precision, eased one and then two fingers into her tight passage.

Her arousal flooded his hand, making his cock painfully erect.

"Oh baby, I knew you needed this," he groaned, pumping his fingers in and out while his thumb applied feather-light pressure on the sensitized bundle of nerves that had her seeing shards of bright colors.

He lightly scraped his teeth over her jaw, encouraged by the tiny noises coming from the back of her throat.

Unfurling his fingers at a deliberately steady pace, he reached around with his free hand to tweak and pluck her nipples through her dress, all while softly kissing her face and neck.

"Christian, my, my…" she began to protest.

"Don't worry," he said, attuned to her mind and body. "I'll be careful not to mess up your hair or makeup. I've done this before." He felt her stiffen but didn't understand why.

"Shhh relax baby. I'll take care of you," his gravely voice lulling her back into submission.

When he inserted a third finger, she completely lost all train of thought.

Ana bit down on the wing of Christian's shoulder at the intense sensation as he hooked one finger to tap her G-spot while using the other two to fill her completely.

Her breathing ragged, she began to undulate her hips and move in sync with his hand, while Christian unconsciously rubbed his erection against her thigh.

"Christian," she whimpered into his ear, piercing his bicep with the nails on one hand and scratching the back of his neck with the other.

"That's it baby. Hold onto me. I've got you," he grunted, his eyes molten fire as he watched her writhe in blistering need.

His thrusts grew more vicious, determined to coax out her orgasm. Christian felt her inner walls contract and harshly tugged on her earlobe.

"Shit, I feel you. I feel you. Christ you have no idea how much I want to be inside you. Come on my hand baby. You can do it."

When the first spasm hit, Christian clamped his lips over hers, desperate to ride out every vibration of her climax with her.

Christian was unrelenting, his fingers refusing to cease their assault until he felt her body sag in pure, undiluted ecstasy.

Eyes glazed over, chest heaving, Ana just shook her head at his automotive apology. _Men are such simple creatures._ _And mine is apparently well versed in this kind of apology._

Suddenly, her head snapped down to her legs, pried open in a very unladylike fashion. _Gross! Now I have to walk around all night in soggy undies._

"Tah dah!" Christian whipped out an extra pair of panties from his tux pocket like some perverted magician.

"You had those in there the whole time?"

"I come prepared," he shrugged, discarding the crumpled underwear and shimmying the new pair up her legs.

"Lift your ass baby. Up," he instructed as he gave them a swift final tug over her rear end.

Ana didn't know what was more mortifying — Christian dressing her private parts like a child or the thought of him rifling through her underwear drawer.

But her embarrassment ebbed when she saw the look of proud accomplishment on his face, like he'd just put together a Rubik's cube.

She swatted his chest in exasperation, opening her compact to fix her smudged makeup. _Oh geez, I look like a teenager who just got groped in the backseat. Because I was._

"Smug bastard," she mumbled, trying to fluff her hair back up. "I hope your blue balls go black as punishment for that little stunt of yours."

"You have no fucking idea Ana," he exhaled as he exited the car and walked around to open the door for her. "Let's get this over with so we can hurry home and you can remedy that situation," he winked, extending his hand out.

Ana swayed a bit when she stood, so Christian wrapped his arm tightly around her waist. He discreetly smoothed out the front of her now-ruffled dress, a self-satisfied smirk on his face while she wore a look of reproach on hers.

"If you'd kept your paws off me, my dress wouldn't be so wrinkled, now would it Mr. Grey?"

"Don't worry Ms. Steele, it'll be on the floor before you know it," he countered, his naughty promise hanging in the air as he led her inside.


	15. Chapter 15: MATCHING GREEN-EYED MONSTERS

**Author's Note: I had fun writing this chapter — I think jealousy is such an inherently human instinct, so I enjoy playing with the theme. Honestly, while I loved "Fifty Shades," I always thought Ana's reaction was a little unrealistic. "Oh he's got a lineup of supermodel, super-sexy submissives. No biggie." Umm, I don't think so :) So this is a light-hearted, back-and-forth take but it hints at the more serious cracks that will emerge soon. Remember, Christian is a lot for Ana to take on — his looks, money and past intimidate her, and she is still healing from a very long relationship, so her issues are explored first, but Christian will also struggle to accept that she shared her life for so long with another man. They're both older and have a ton of baggage, and dealing will that will be the crux of their discovery process.**

 **I hope everyone enjoys this. I'm wrapping up the next chapter, which will have a nice juicy lemon, so that may take me a few days to write.**

 **jayhawk78 – I will try not to post the lemon on a Sunday so you can go to Church with a clear conscience :)**

 **FanFicFanWI – I love their crossed wires. Relationships and miscommunication always seem to go hand in hand.**

 **Christian618 – I agree that there's plenty of drama in real-life relationships so there's no need to add any!**

 **And I can't reply to guest reviewers but I just wanted to thank the reviewer who said this was the best alternate universe story she'd ever read! That's so nice to hear! Please keep the reviews coming :)**

 **CHAPTER 15:** **MATCHING GREEN-EYED MONSTERS**

As soon as they walked arm in arm into the glittering atrium, festooned with bright pink-and-green lights and lush floral centerpieces, Ana's anxiety shot through the gilded roof.

 _Oh God, they're all staring at us. They must know what we did in the car! I've got slut written all over me. A pleasantly satisfied slut, but still._

Ana soon realized, however, that all eyes weren't on her; they were on Christian — and specifically, only the pairs belonging to women. _Oh good grief, can't he tone down the sex appeal for just one night?_

Unwanted attention was never a problem for Ana. Her and Jose were the type of couple that blended into the crowd. Being average affords you a welcome cloak of anonymity, she reflected, a stab of pain lancing her at the memories of her beloved ex.

Ana didn't have long to dwell on her past before she was fending off women accidentally "bumping" into her present.

"Drink?" Christian asked, amused by the women coalescing around him.

"Apparently I'll need one," Ana replied, decidedly less amused.

Sure enough, every fawning female under the age of 45 converged on the bar, like moths to a flame. Granted, it didn't help that the average age in the room was a plucky 68, elevating Christian's status as the evening's most eligible bachelor.

 _Bachelor? I guess he's my boyfriend. My too-good-looking-for-his-own-good boyfriend._ Ana threw dirty looks at the swarm of groupies making a beeline for her man.

"Hello, my name is Valencia. My husband is one of the co-chairs of this evening."

 _Umm, then go join him._

"And I'm Beatrice," her shapely, cougar-esque companion purred. "I'm a longtime supporter of the gala as well."

 _What you need is a dress to support those floppy tits._

Despite the worthwhile cause, Ana was feeling less-than charitable at the moment, regretting that she hadn't taken Christian up on his dress offer. Looking down at her basic black ensemble, which stood in stark contrast to the eye-catching fashions in the room, she felt as if her insignificance was on full display.

Ana's posture tensed, until she felt nimble fingers massaging the knots out of her shoulders. Christian was in heaven — not because of the attention, but because of Ana's reaction to it.

 _Jealousy looks sexy on her. Maybe I should make these women mud wrestle for me?_ Christian's mind wandered for a second before he looked down at the firebrand who barely reached his shoulders. _Don't antagonize her Christian. Ana's not one of your 25-year-old waifs. She's libel to throw you into the ring and rip your balls off like a damn praying mantis._

So he paid no mind to his congregation of female acolytes, dutifully putting his girl on a pedestal.

"Ladies, this is my lovely date Ana Steele, a top journalist who specializes in world affairs, so this is really her show. I'm merely along for the ride," Christian announced, giving Ana a good-natured wink that tempered her irritation.

Clinging possessively to his arm, she almost felt sorry for Christian's fan club — almost — until she saw the leader of the wolf pack emerge.

"Oh great," Ana bemoaned when she spotted the beauty-pageant blonde making her way over to them. Missy Jones had parlayed her skills as a party girl and shameless flirt to build a mini blogging empire that made her the darling of the social circuit. As such, Ana had the indistinct pleasure of crossing paths with her a few times a year.

"Welcome to the 2015 End Leukemia Gala," she said, greeting Christian and ignoring Ana. "My name is Missy Jones. My publication is one of the media sponsors of tonight's event."

 _Publication? You mean that online rag that peddles unfounded rumors and vapid socialite pics? Journalism that caters to the masses — and perpetuates mass ignorance? Oh geez Ana, get off your high unemployed horse._

"Hi Missy. It's nice to see you again," Ana offered, striking a conciliatory tone.

"Oh hello Hannah," she replied as an afterthought.

 _Still an improvement. Last time she called me Melissa._

"Congratulations on the event. That's a fabulous ball gown," Ana said of the cream-colored chiffon ensemble that lent the gossip queen an ethereal glow. With her luscious blonde locks pulled back into an elaborate twist and slim figure — except for her voluptuous chest — Missy resembled a Greek goddess. _How the hell does she get all her body fat to concentrate in one area like that anyway?_

"And what a cute little cocktail dress Hannah," Missy said, her contrived compliment matching her artificial smile. "I can never do black. I wind up looking like a matronly schoolteacher! But you manage to pull understated off."

 _Impressive backhand!_ She definitely swings for the fences, Ana thought, mixing up her sports metaphors.

Ana put up a good game, but when it came to style, she came up short.

"Ummm, well you know me. I'm not one to get dolled up, and black suits all occasions," she said, diffidence creeping into her voice.

"Fortunately there's no need to dress up perfection. Ana looks magnificent in any color," Christian interjected, kissing her temple and lifting her spirits. She gave him a crooked smile that lifted his. _Homerun Grey!_

"I'm sorry. This is my date Christian Grey, a New York financier," Ana said with a tad too much glee. _And he's definitely getting past third base tonight!_

Missy may have reinvented herself as the epitome of upper-class refinement, but the scrappy bottom-feeder was never far away. And she smelled blood.

"Absolute pleasure to meet you Mr. Grey," she preened, eyeing Ana skeptically. "I didn't realize you were dating Hannah. Where is your husband Jose?"

 _Wait, his name she remembers?!_

"Ana is no longer married Ms. Jones and we are dating," Christian coolly informed her, slinging a proprietary arm around her shoulder. "And she is quite busy on assignment tonight so I'm sure you'll understand if we get a move on."

Ana wanted to do a victory lap. _Game, set, match bitch!_

"Oh yes, of course, of course," she stuttered, allowing them to pass.

"The Greek goddess bumbles her way back down to earth," Ana smirked.

"And the green-eyed monster makes an appearance," Christian crowed.

"What? Pleeaasse. I wasn't jealous!" Her umbrage rang hollow even to her own ears.

"Oh no?" Christian grabbed her from behind and began tickling her until she caved.

"OK, OK, you win you pompous ass! I owe you. You were awesome. Happy?"

 _Very_.

"She's always been a royal pain in the ass. Her highness has a way of making us commoners feel like toads," Ana sighed. "I should've just sucked up my pride and let you buy me a dress."

"I won't quibble with you on the pride thing, but if you ever call yourself a toad again, I'm going to kiss the living shit out of you in front of all these people."

"Don't you dare. I'm pretty sure Missy would gouge my eyes out. I'm actually surprised you didn't fall for her magic. Everyone else does."

"Please," Christian scoffed. _And I am going to kiss the ever-loving shit out of you anyway._ "Those girls are a dime a dozen. I'm more interested in priceless jewels," he said, gazing down at her. _Yep, he's definitely getting laid tonight!_

"Aren't you just the silver-tongued connoisseur," she teased. _Wait for it Ana. Wait for it._

"Oh I'll be happy to show you what my tongue is capable of later tonight Ms. Steele."

She shook her head. "Incorrigible Mr. Grey." _And predictable._

They wandered over to the VIP section reserved for the corporate honchos who footed the bill for the gala.

"They're talking. Maybe we should come back another time," Ana hedged, intimidated by the sea of suits.

"Nonsense. They need to meet you."

Sure-footed on his home turf, Christian interrupted the businessmen to introduce his date. _Date or girlfriend? She seemed lukewarm to the boyfriend label earlier today but maybe she'll be more receptive after the Missy fiasco._

"Gentlemen this is my girlfriend Ana Steele," Christian declared. "She's an international affairs expert and a renowned local journalist who is covering tonight's event."

Ana dumbly greeted the men, taken aback by Christian's effusive praise. _Geez I get a promotion every time he introduces me!_ She brazenly pinched his ass in gratitude, making him jump.

 _Fuck I need to call her my girlfriend more often!_

"And who might you be?" a smarmy, middle-age man in a toupee inquired.

"Christian Grey of Grey Fund Management," Christian said, an assertive edge to his reply.

"Oh hello Mr. Grey," the man gushed, vigorously shaking Christian's hand — his toupee now askew. "I'm Dwayne Reynolds of Teel Defense Strategies. I recall your venture capital firm when my company was starting out years ago. I must say your funds have enjoyed some impressive returns."

"Wasn't your fund on the Forbes top 10 list?" another man named Michael chimed in.

"Top five," Christian corrected him, like the immodest titan of industry that he was.

As Christian's pedigree dawned on them, the corporate executives transformed into pariahs clamoring to ingratiate themselves with a millionaire.

"You made a killing last year on health care stocks. What's your secret?" Michael asked.

"It didn't exactly take a genius to figure out that Obamacare's mandatory health insurance coverage would send insurance stocks skyrocketing," Christian said, bored with their inane questions.

"Naturally, naturally," Michael and Dwayne cowered in unison.

Ana imperceptibly rolled her eyes. _Come on guys, I know his ass is nice and all, but you don't need to kiss it that hard._

From her vantage point, Christian looked edible as he lectured his eager pupils about collateralized debt obligation and capital gains exposure, though she was too busy picturing the two dimples on his ass to pay much attention.

Listless, she began rocking on her heels, Christian taking the hint.

"Excuse us gentlemen. My girlfriend has work to do. Nice speaking with you." Christian smiled down at Ana, who gladly took his proffered hand.

"I should get you to beef up my resume for me. Your introductions are a real ego boost."

"I don't know why you were so reserved around those clowns. You're smarter than all of them combined."

"I suppose, but even after all these years, I still have an inferiority complex at these events. This is more your crowd than mine. Not all of us can be the Rockefeller of risky investment vehicles Mr. Grey."

"Oh Ana, you and your gems. I don't understand why you downplay your talents. Come on, who is the most important person in here?"

A seasoned vet at spotting the VIPs, Ana instantly pointed to Gareth O'Sullivan, the former finance minister of Ireland who now headed the European Union's diplomatic arm.

Christian strode with purpose to the man surrounded by EU officials, while Ana followed. But she tamped down her insecurities and took the lead this time.

"Hello Minister O'Sullivan. My name is Ana Steele, an area journalist. This is Christian Grey, a New York hedge fund manager. I've written a bit about the eurozone crisis and just wanted to introduce myself."

"It's a pleasure to meet you both. You came at an opportune moment. We were just discussing the recent bailout for Greece."

Inside, Ana was a ball of nerves but Christian saw nothing but poise and perfection as she held court on the subject of currency devaluation and public versus private debt.

"At the end of the day, the Greeks gorged on low interest rates and now they're paying the piper for their profligacy. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more woefully inefficient and incompetent economy in all of Europe," O'Sullivan said with an aristocratic hubris that humbled everyone into agreement. Almost.

"I agree that the Greek economy needs a complete overhaul, but I'm not sure shock-therapy-like austerity that perpetuates a vicious cycle of unemployment is the way to go about it. And remember that it was French, German and _Irish_ banks who gladly offered those low interest rates, and made a killing in return," Ana quietly pointed out, her temerity bubbling to the surface. Christian smiled.

 _Oh yes Mr. O'Sullivan. She's a formidable adversary. I learned that the hard way too._

O'Sullivan was unmoved and responded with the churlish insolence of a high-ranking bureaucrat who doesn't like to be questioned.

"Ms. Steele, may I remind you that the Greeks cooked the books and lied about their debt? Their corruption is legendary. I believe their punishment fits the crime."

"Completely true. May I also remind you that lax EU regulations allowed those books to be cooked? And 25 percent joblessness is not exactly a light sentence."

"I am sure it looks unfair to an outsider, but this debacle goes above the average person's head. It would be impossible for me to explain economics to someone who doesn't fully understand the intricacies of it," O'Sullivan said in a superior manner that infuriated Christian.

Part of him wanted to charge in and come to Ana's rescue, but Christian recognized the telltale look of defiance on his girl's face. _Wait for it Christian. Wait for it._

"You're right of course Mr. O'Sullivan," she conceded. "I am an outsider, whereas _you_ had a firsthand, insider view into the crisis — being at the helm of the Irish Finance Ministry when the worst financial calamity of the modern era struck" — _in other words, that shit happened on your watch._

Riveted, Christian, along with all the other men in the group, listened as Ana delivered her coup de grace. "Incidentally, I was sorry to hear of your party's losses in parliament following the crash. I'm sure they'll emerge from the political wilderness after this year's election."

Her scathing reproof threw O'Sullivan off kilter as he vacillated between anger and admiration for the gutsy woman who had just put him in his place. His ingrained civility won out and he opted for the latter.

"Well, Ms. Steele it looks like you're quite knowledgeable about both Irish politics and European economics. I will make it a point to look up one of your articles."

Christian watched Ana shine, rapt and radiating pride. _That's my girl. Fuck I love seeing her in action._

His adulation was interrupted by a young man with black hair and blue eyes decked out in a gleaming all-white uniform.

"Excuse me, but are you Anastasia Steele, editor of the World Political Report?"

"Uh, former editor, but, um, yes. Just Ana though," she replied, tongue-tied by the dashing "Officer and a Gentleman" replica. Christian was considerably less impressed.

 _Who the fuck is this douche and why is the power of speech failing my writer girlfriend?_

"Nice to meet you. I'm Christopher Taylor. I'm a Navy analyst. Your article on Obama's national security strategy circulated the halls of the Pentagon for a number of years. It was even adopted by a class at the War College."

"Really?" she asked in awe. _Damn, the Pentagon! And hot damn those eyes are blue!_

Staking his claim of ownership, Christian's arm came down around Ana's shoulder like a 10-ton weight.

"Hi. Christian Grey, Ana's boyfriend," he said brusquely, reinforcing his claim.

"Hello," Christopher replied dismissively, shifting his focus back onto Ana. "Yes I studied it extensively, along with the analysis you did on Bush's doctrine of pre-emption."

"Wow, thank you but it was nothing. I only talked with a few think tank experts to put those pieces together," she said bashfully, her cheeks crimson.

 _I need to hunt these stories down, along with this fucker's title. And why the flying fuck is she blushing like that?_

Christian dug his fingers into Ana's shoulder while shooting icy daggers at the decorated naval officer. Ana finally noticed the other good-looking man by her side. _Oh boy, if looks could kill, this seaman would need a life preserver._

Christian's hostility was mollified somewhat when Ana raked her nails along his lower spine, his dick standing to attention. _Yeah, salute that prick_.

"You have a real gift Ms. Steele," Christopher persisted. "You offered one of the most cohesive overviews on the subject that I've ever read."

"Ana is too modest. She's the most brilliant writer I know," Christian said before she could object, giving her an intentionally drawn-out kiss on the forehead.

Christopher intentionally ignored it. "And ambitious. Who outside the DoD would tackle something like the NSS?"

"Every policy wonk inside the Beltway," she exclaimed, both of them erupting into laughter.

 _What the fuck are these geeks talking about?!_

"It was nice speaking with you Mr. Taylor," Christian said, injecting himself into their esoteric exchange. "But if you excuse us, dinner is about to start so my _girlfriend_ and I should take our seats."

He whisked Ana away before she could say goodbye. "Thanks for introducing me by the way," he complained, yanking her hand.

"I'm sorry Christian. He just took me by surprise."

"Yes I saw you were quite taken. Let's go. I'm tired of mingling with these fools."

They walked to the table in silence — Christian steamed, Ana smug. _Welcome to my world Mr. Sex on a Stick. Jealousy's not so fun when it's on the other foot._

Ana should not have put her own running shoes away just yet. Arriving at their table, she was met with a surreal scene: a mob of society ladies elbowing one another for the chance to sit close to — and ogle — her date. At the head of the class was none other than a certain blogger.

 _Oh for the love of all that is holy in sisterhood woman!_ Ana looked up to the ceiling for divine inspiration. _Don't stoop to her level. The man had his hand up your dress less than an hour ago. I think you have a slight advantage. Then again, that doesn't mean you can't remind her who has the upper hand._

Much to Christian's chagrin, Ana suddenly reached up on her tippy toes to give him an obscene kiss on the lips. Delighted by her territorial streak, he reciprocated with an equally inappropriate kiss of his own, grabbing her ass for good measure.

"Put your claws away Ms. Steele. I'm sure they'll play nice and keep their mitts off me," he laughed. "Then again, I can't speak for Missy. Greek goddesses can be very insistent — and hard to resist." _So maybe you should appreciate what's in front of you instead of drooling over that limp dick Navy admirer of yours. In fact, perhaps a little retribution is in order._

Christian swaggered to his seat and gave Missy an exaggerated bow, peeking over his shoulder to see if he was getting a rise out of his disobedient girlfriend. Not to be outfoxed, Ana sashayed over to her own chair. "You know, there's an empty place next to me. I could always ask Christopher over. I'm sure he wouldn't mind keeping me company," she batted her eyelashes coquettishly.

"That's not funny Ana. Sit down." His tone was austere as he threw a dinner brochure on that seat to ensure no one sat there.

"Double standards never are when they're hurled back at you." Her tone was acerbic as she tossed her purse onto the empty chair.

 _If he thinks he can rile me up by flirting with that airhead he's got another thing coming._

 _If she thinks she can disrespect me by flirting with that asshole she's got another thing coming._


	16. Chapter 16: CRACKS EMERGE

**Author's Note: First off, I just wanted to say a sincere thank you to everyone for the reviews and follows. It's been awesome to see them steadily go up. And thank you to those who are passing along my story – I really appreciate it. I was a little nervous posting my stories online because I've heard of how nasty the comments can get, but this has been such a positive experience and it has really inspired me to keep going, so thanks!**

 **This is another fun chapter but their relationship will start to get serious after this. Again, I deviate from the premise in "Fifty" that Ana is just a natural at everything sexual. In real life, I don't know any woman who wouldn't feel intimidated by a sex god (who incidentally is not perfect either), let alone a woman with limited experience, so I explore that a little. It's just enough to plant seeds of doubt in Ana's mind, adding to the feeling that she's overwhelmed. On that front, thanks** **FanFicFanWI — I think there's always so much miscommunication and insecurity when two people first get together. Hell, even after years together there are still crossed wires!**

 **Just a heads up, in my version, Ana is more of the commitment phobic, though that tracks roughly with "Fifty" (Christian did propose after knowing the girl for like three weeks). I always thought it's cliché that men are portrayed as the ones who are scared of settling down. In my experience, women are just as likely to experience that fear, so I take it from that angle. Anyway, enough babbling, enjoy the show — and lemon :) Reviews appreciated!**

 **CHAPTER 16:** **CRACKS EMERGE**

Grumpy and Mopey picked at their appetizers as they waged a silent battle for supremacy. Missy was too busy flashing Christian a gratuitous boob shot whenever he peered up from his plate to notice their feud.

 _This girl doesn't quit! Maybe I should chat her up to teach my own girl a lesson?_ He glanced down at Ana, her countenance stoic and stubborn. _Only if you want to guarantee yourself a good night's sleep on the couch Christian._

Hoping to avoid that scenario, Christian raised the white flag and reverted back to being the doting boyfriend. "Did I mention that you look resplendent this evening my dear — in your 'cute little' cocktail number?" he whispered in her ear, his warm breath melting her willpower.

 _God he smells yummy. I'm like a fat kid and chocolate cake when it comes to this man._

"Resplendent huh? I see you're taking a page from my thesaurus."

"Mmm hmm. And you look fucking hot when you're mad." He leaned in to nuzzle her neck.

 _Give it up Ana. Resistance is futile._

"I thought only Greek goddesses were hot," she retaliated, still smarting from his little display of gallantry toward her mortal enemy.

"No they're overhyped." He bit her earlobe. "Only one goddess I worship."

"You sure know how to smooth talk or sexually manipulate your way out of most quandaries don't you Mr. Grey?" she rasped.

He chuckled. "I suppose I can handle myself in sticky situations, though the sex part is reserved strictly for you Ms. Steele."

"I know a few ladies who'll be sorely disappointed to hear that."

"The only one I care about seems immune to my powers of persuasion," he countered, upping the ante by covertly skimming his hand under her dress. "Though perhaps we should test that theory."

One arm draped around her shoulder and the other obscured by the heavy tablecloth, Christian ignored Ana's half-hearted protests and got to work showing her just how good his powers of persuasion could be.

Above the table, Ana put up the illusion of a fight, but underneath her legs involuntarily opened to Christian's sensual touch. Her skin dewy and breathing heavy, she struggled to maintain her composure — and dignity — as his adroit fingers found their mark and began caressing her sex. To everyone else, they looked like two people innocently canoodling at the table. Underneath, however, it was a different story.

Christian moved the edge of her panties out of his way and eased two fingers deep inside, leisurely sliding them in and out of her. Ana's knuckles became translucent as she clawed at the table and shot Christian a look begging for mercy.

 _Shit, please don't make me come in front of all these people. We're together. I got the message loud and clear!_

 _Fuck, if she keeps looking at me like that I'm going to blow in front of all these people. Missy and Christopher would sure as hell get the message that we're together then._

But an attentive waiter thwarted Christian's plans to ruin yet another pair of undies. Thank God, Ana exhaled. _Saved by the dinner bell._

"Motherfucker," Christian cursed under his breath, carefully removing his hand so the waiter could put down their entrées. Beads of sweat on their brows, Christian and Ana both reached for their water glasses, guzzling every last drop, though neither of their thirsts was quenched.

When he leaned back in his chair, Missy seized her opportunity to monopolize the conversation — and Christian.

He threw Ana a "rescue me" pout but she gave him a knowing smirk that said, "You're on your own Mr. 'I Can Handle Myself,'" and began tuning out Missy's abrasive squawking.

Ana drew circular patterns on the table, absentmindedly staring down at her naked ring finger. It still felt strange not to have a diamond on it — and not to have Jose by her side. Normally, they'd be mocking the conspicuous display of consumption and social-climbing that these events inevitably inspired, lost in their own bubble of not quite fitting in. _Instead, another man was playing me like a wanton fiddle under the table._

She may not have loved him any more, but Ana still missed Jose and felt loyal to him. _That's not true either. I do love him. But I'm not in love with him. Did I really just use that tired cliché? No wonder I can't find writing gigs._

She glanced over at Christian, who was plotting his escape. _And now I'm with a man who's the extreme opposite of everything I've ever known. Jose and I scraped by to pay our underwater mortgage each month. He probably owns half a city block just to house his women. He belongs in this world, and I despise it._

Christian could see Ana was conflicted but assumed it was over dessert. Breaking away from his garrulous seatmate, he stroked Ana's cheek to get her attention.

"Don't worry baby. You order the chocolate cake and I'll get the fruit tart but you can eat my raspberries."

She smiled sweetly. "You remembered."

"Your oddly healthy addiction — of course I do. Hopefully I'm the other thing you crave," he whispered provocatively. "In fact, I'm going to start calling you my little raspberry tart."

She was about to get a cavity from the saccharine cutesiness.

"And I'll call you big dick."

Christian chortled out loud, drawing wide-eyed stares from his table companions.

"It's an old Indian name. It means large penis," she deadpanned, making him laugh harder.

"You're a trip my dear. How about I stick to baby and dear for now and you come up with a more G-rated nickname for me?"

She frowned. _How do you come up with a pet name for a mega tycoon?_ Then an unpalatable thought struck her: _Did he have nicknames for them? Did he call all of his girlfriends baby and dear? Did he move this fast with them? The timing fits his three-month window for relationships._

Ana pushed away her meticulously arranged entrée. She swung from being preoccupied with her past, to obsessing about his. And once Ana embarked on the road of self-doubt, she could rarely find the exit ramp.

Christian saw her mind drift, far away from him. _I hate it when she checks out on me. Is she thinking about that Navy prick? Maybe these bitches are really getting to her? Her self-esteem is already so low — I should never have thrown Missy in her face like that._

"Hey, you know you're the most beautiful woman at this table right? Do you want to move? We don't have to stay here if you don't want to," he suggested, concern etched on his face.

"Huh? Oh no they're harmless. It's nothing, really," she insisted, fiddling with her napkin.

"What is it then? Tell me."

She peeked up at him with those guileless blue eyes that never ceased to unnerve him. _Don't lie to him. He's been nothing but honest with you._

"It's just strange being at one of these events with someone new," she admitted sadly.

Christian's heart began to thud against his rib cage. _Why is she thinking about_ _ **him**_ _?_

"And you're … you," she let out a humorless laugh, her eyes distant. "And I'm me."

 _What the fuck does that mean? I'm not good enough for her? Does she think_ _ **she's**_ _not good enough for me?_

"And then earlier today. I know I keep harping about it, but the apartment thing really rattled me," she confessed, finally voicing the niggling doubt that she hadn't been able to shake all afternoon. "You don't have to tell me, but I have to ask. Did you buy them apartments too? Your exes."

Christian sighed. _Fuck I knew this wasn't over. Women don't just beat a dead horse to death, they tear it limb from limb and roast it over an open fire pit for dinner._

"No I've never bought anyone an apartment before and I've never been in a long-distance relationship before," he answered, pausing. _A lie by omission Christian…_ "I did, however, pay the rents of several women I dated. Most, in fact. It was part of the package I suppose."

Her heart sank. _He didn't just have girlfriends; he had dependants. I just happen to be more homeless than the rest of them._

Christian felt himself scurrying off to the familiar confines of the doghouse, tail between his legs. His hands cupped her melancholy face.

"Ana you are special to me," he said earnestly. "What we have is special. I've dated girls before but I've never been a real boyfriend, if that makes any sense. It was always just a label they slapped on me that held no meaning to me. But I want to be yours if you'll just give me the chance. Please, don't hold that dumb shit against me. This is different. We're different. Fuck, I'm not explaining myself very well."

Moved by his clumsily poetic plea, Ana's eyes softened. "No you are. I'm blowing this out of proportion. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to crucify you for your past. You can't change it any more than I can change mine."

"I know." The tenor of his voice was a few decibels lower than usual. _And I don't need a reminder that you had a whole other life before me._

"You're you, I'm me, and you're with _me_ now," Christian told her in no uncertain terms. Ana smiled and gave him a chaste kiss, mistakenly assuming he was referring to his exes — not hers.

Christian kissed her back with a vengeance. He grabbed her head and smashed his lips over hers, easing up only when he sensed her distress.

"Keep it G-rated Mr. Grey," Ana panted, stealing nervous glances at the prying eyes around them.

"Fine but I get the unrated version tonight. In the meantime, let's just block everyone else out" — _including your damn husband_ — "and have a good night, you and me. OK?"

Relief swept over him when she gave him an incandescent smile. _Fuck she's gorgeous._ Christian's hands framed her face as if she were a porcelain doll, the zeal in his eyes hypnotizing her. _How does this guy make me feel like I'm the most gorgeous woman on the planet? Would it be weird if I swooned at the table? How does one swoon anyway?_

As the night wore on, however, Christian's PDAs shifted from lofty reverence to low-down lust. He refused to let Ana out of his sight, or clutches, stealing a kiss or copping a feel at every turn. When he tailed her to the bathroom, Ana knew it was time to go.

In the car, she kept her knees locked up tight, fearing a repeat performance of their illicit backseat tryst.

Christian gave her a sinful smirk, not even bothering to conceal the growing bulge in his pants. "You're only delaying the inevitable my dear."

True to his word, Christian mauled her as soon as they got out of the sedan. She giggled as he chased her into the apartment — eager to use his prowess in the bedroom to make amends for problems outside of it. Ana recognized his coping mechanism. Sex as a crutch, she thought, breathlessly watching as he stalked her. _And I'm his willing enabler._

The atmosphere was thick with anticipation. Ana incrementally backed away from him until she hit a wall. Christian boxed her in, a feral gleam in his eye. She was literally cornered.

"Strip," he commanded.

"Whhaa … stri? … wait, what?"

 _That's right baby. I'm the only one who reduces you to a blubbering mess._

"Strip Anastasia," he repeated, his stance unyielding, his tone uncompromising.

 _Full name. He's serious._ She shakily kicked off her shoes and peeled off her dress, while Christian stood immobile and mesmerized.

"Keep going. Bra and panties too."

 _Oh lord have mercy! Do I look like the type of woman who'd be graceful on a pole? He's practically salivating. This man harbors some serious delusions about my body._ Despite her reservations, Ana complied, removing the rest of her undergarments.

Christian was still fully clothed, while Ana was fully exposed — and feverish with desire. Rooted to the floor, he drank in the sight of her. His eyes raked over her trembling form, feeding off her nerves.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured.

 _You? I'm the buck-naked puddle of need here._

He slowly shed every piece of clothing on him and approached her, sandwiching her between the wall and his bare body. The rise of their chests made contact every time they inhaled but otherwise Christian didn't utter a word. He just stood there, staring down at her, the long stretch of silence making Ana's knees buckle.

Hands splayed on her hips to keep her upright, Christian dragged the tip of his erection over the sensitive skin of her abdomen, like a paintbrush on a canvas. She reached for his biceps to get her bearings, unsure of how to respond to his restrained seduction. The only sound in the room was that of their jagged breaths, ratcheting the tension even higher.

Finally, he bent down to whisper in her ear, the hot gust of air giving her chills.

"Do you feel that? How much I want you. You're the only one I want Ana." He clasped the nape of her neck and tilted her head up to look at him. "And the feeling better be mutual." He sealed his warning with a voracious kiss that stole what was left of her breath away.

Christian's hand slid down to cup her mound, sinking his middle and index fingers inside and picking up where they'd left off at dinner.

"Is this what you want Anastasia? Do you want me to finish what we started at the table?" His words were coated in honey but there was nothing sweet about the devastatingly slow movements designed to draw out her torture.

"No," she said, her voice brittle but resolute. "I don't want this."

Christian instantly stilled, terrified he'd gone too far. "Baby I'm sorry…"

She reached up to stroke his cheek and reassure him. "I just want you. _All_ of you."

"Fuck Ana, you've got all of me and then some," he growled, kissing her hard as he scooped her up and deposited her on the bed.

She opened her legs to cradle him but he stopped her.

"No baby, time for something new," he said, flipping her onto her stomach. "I've got a whole encyclopedia of positions I can't wait to get you in. We're going to start here."

 _An encyclopedia? I know of like three!_

Christian lifted her hips and kicked her legs apart, positioning her so that her ass was high in the air. His hand skated over the plane of her back in veneration, massaging her shoulders before twisting her ponytail around his fist.

When Christian rubbed his engorged cock between her cheeks, Ana seized, misinterpreting his intentions. "Shhh. Don't worry. Not there. Not yet."

 _Come again?_

"Ummm, OK. Go slow please."

"Whatever you need," he pledged, finding her slit and pushing himself inside inch by aching inch until he couldn't go any further.

"Oh fuck. I've been wanting to do that all night. Is this what you need baby?" he panted, filling her with long, fluid strokes that grew progressively faster.

"Yes. Oh God yes!"

Fueled by her gratifying moans, Christian began pummeling into her, one hand in her hair and the other on her shoulder. Ana grabbed the headboard to brace herself against his thrusts, each one harder than the last.

Her scalp burned and every nerve ending in her body was on fire as she pushed back against his constant, forceful pounding.

"Fuck baby, this is going to be quick," Christian gasped, picking up the pace. "This is what you do to me. Only you. Only you," he chanted, the mantra worming its way into her head. "Ever," he groaned, his declaration ringing in her ears. Christian plowed into her as he exploded into a mind-bending orgasm, tone-deaf to her tiny cries of discomfort as his enlarged erection bumped up against her cervix.

Collapsing onto her sweat-drenched back, he was cognizant enough to realize that the pleasure had been one-sided. Harnessing his strength, he flipped Ana over again and slid her down toward his face.

"Your turn," he gave her a devilish grin as he settled between the apex of her legs. His coarse stubble tickled her thighs, enflaming and reawakening her senses.

Flattening his tongue, Christian took long, languid licks from bottom to top, watching in satisfaction as Ana thrashed above him.

Finally, he dove into her folds, his tongue probing her as he hooked his arms around her waist to hold her down.

"Oh fuck," she yelped, tugging on his hair like he had done to her earlier.

Her head shot up when he stopped but fell back down when his tongue began circling her swollen clit, the stimulation taking her to delirious heights.

"Please Christian. Please don't stop," she whined, her body screaming for release.

His own body about to combust, Christian gave into her demands, vigorously flicking her clit while he shoved two fingers inside of her.

As if on cue, she fragmented into an unparalleled climax, her hoarse scream renting the room. Christian held onto her firmly as he lapped up everything she had to give him.

Glistening with her arousal, he clambered back up her body and smacked his lips in appreciation.

 _Oh crap, there is no shame in this man's game._

"Don't worry baby. It'll be your turn to repay the favor soon enough. Your mouth is mine."

 _Come again?_

Christian only granted her a momentary reprieve to process his crude suggestion before filling her again with one sharp, swift motion.

"Oh God," she moaned, disoriented by the sudden breach and the feel of him, rigid and thick inside her still-quivering walls.

"Hang on baby," he counseled as he began drilling into her, determined to bring her to the pinnacle again.

She was sore and her legs chafed but she couldn't deny the magnificent feeling of completion that he inspired.

Ana was on hedonistic overload as Christian barreled into her like a man possessed. He wedged his feet into the mattress to give himself added leverage as he rutted into her like an animal.

"No I can't…" she gasped in shock when she felt that familiar tingle in her toes.

"Oh yes you can baby, and you will," he commanded gruffly, his words weaving their usual spell.

He banded his arms tightly around her. She was completely ensnared by him, her body betraying her.

Ana burrowed her face into his shoulder and hooked her ankles together, trying to ride out his unrelenting onslaught.

"That's it. Hold onto me. I've got you." She did just that, her nails puncturing the skin on his back. _Fuck I'll wear that like a badge of honor._

Christian wouldn't let up on her until he got precisely what he wanted. "Yes that's my girl, yes, yes. I need to feel you again. Give it up for me."

A burst of white light clouded her vision as a soul-shattering climax ripped through her, sparking an instant chain reaction. His hips paralyzed, Christian let out a guttural moan as he emptied himself inside of her.

Desperate to prolong every second of their euphoric connection, Christian continued ramming into her despite the violent aftershocks wracking their bodies.

"Oh shit! Shit. You feel so good. Christ I lov…" he bit his tongue, on the cusp of an emotion that shook him almost as hard as that orgasm. Ana was too far-gone to notice his slip.

Boneless and breathless, she slumped into the mattress, while Christian fell on top of her — prostrate yet triumphant. He grinned like the cat who ate the canary, convinced he'd fucked his way out of the doghouse.

Finally sated, Christian slept like an immovable brick that night, while Ana tossed and turned as she wrestled with his larger-than-life persona — in and out of the bedroom. Finally, she flung her legs over the bed and headed to the living room before Christian could go for round four.

 _How can I possibly keep up with this man? I'm small. He's big. In all aspects of life. The combo is not always conducive to great sex, at least not for the woman. What the hell am I going to do when he wants a blowjob? My dentist can barely keep my mouth open for a cleaning._

 _His girlfriends must have had some serious stamina._

Just then, Ana remembered that Christian had given her access to his SocialSharer page, the poison winding its way through her veins, corrupting her reason.

Like the fat kid who couldn't resist cake, she flipped open her laptop, the glare of the light illuminating her stunned features when she saw the women gracing his profile.

It was like an accident scene — Ana couldn't turn away. _Jesus, there are dozens on here. I'm dating the man whore of the East Coast!_

Aghast, she scrolled through the roster of names and accolades — Amber held a Ph.D. in child psychology; Monique was an Olympic-qualifying swimmer; Leslie was a renowned software engineer with her own tech startup. Ana was astounded by the sheer caliber of women with whom he associated. But when she clicked on their photo albums, she was assaulted by a bevy of perfectly toned, evenly tanned, bikini-clad women. _Are these body dimensions even human? Is there a beach where all of Christian's exes go to pose for a calendar or something? Am I the last woman on Earth who still wears freaking one-piece bathing suits?_

She was the antithesis of everything he'd ever known, and while that should have made Ana feel different and indispensable, it made her feel disposable and insignificant.

 _People always go back to what they know._ _I'm in way too deep. He'll reel me in and cut me loose once he sees what he's really caught. And then what? I'm falling for this guy and I'll never emerge from this unscathed._

She angrily swiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek.

Admiring the beautiful faces of his past, Ana faced the ugly reality of her inadequacy. At four in the morning, she finally closed the laptop. She was done for the night. She was just done.


	17. Chapter 17: BREAKDOWN

**Author's Note: The emotional roller-coaster ride continues! I hope Ana doesn't come across as wishy-washy or indecisive, though she is a little. She just has more baggage to sort through than Christian does, so this will be more of a struggle for her. Not to give too much away, but don't worry, there will be a happy ending. But what good story doesn't have bumps along the way :)**

 **Honestly, I find it harder to flesh out Christian's character because this is mostly told from Ana's perspective, and I don't know what it's like to be a guy, but hopefully I did a decent job with him as well.**

 **And again thank you for the reviews – please keep them and the follows coming!**

 **Jayhawk78 and grey girl 618 – as you said, relationships are hard and insecurities are common, so it's always a journey.**

 **Pielietje – Ana is no longer in love with Jose, but she's conflicted in the fact that 16 years doesn't just disappear in six months, so that is something she is still working through.**

 **To the guest reviewer who asked about wealth – I don't think Ana has a hatred of rich people, but it is more of an us versus them attitude not only because she isn't wealthy, but also because she is now broke after her separation, so that compounds her suspicions about Christian's wealth. She is also concerned about becoming dependent on someone who may not be there in a month or two.**

 **And FanFicFanWI – All I can say is that your review seriously made my day – thank you!**

 **P.S. – I thought Fifty fans might appreciate the little dungeon joke ;)**

 **CHAPTER 17: BREAKDOWN**

Christian woke to an empty bed. Feeling bereft, he got up to find Ana, who was flipping channels between Saturday morning cartoons and BBC News.

Blissfully oblivious to the maelstrom brewing next door, Christian gave his girlfriend a kiss on the head before going to pour himself a bowl of cereal — a post-sex buoyancy in his step.

"Morning. Want some coffee? I think I can work your $12 machine," he said sprightly. "I agreed not to buy you an apartment but I am getting you a proper espresso maker."

Crickets. Ana was not amused. She'd had that trusty machine for over a decade.

Christian went about his routine, rummaging through her fridge for some milk. _So this is what domesticity feels like?_ He was so strangely euphoric by the prospect that he didn't notice how distracted his partner was.

"No thanks." She began picking at an invisible piece of lint on her PJs, turning the TV off.

"I saw your SocialSharer page by the way," she mentioned, her tone deceptively casual. "Quite a lineup of acquaintances. Their stats were equally impressive: 34Ds, six feet tall, double Ph.D.s." _Double Ds in some cases._ She arched her brow sardonically.

"Yes I suppose they were 10s. I have high standards my dear. Nothing but the best," he brazenly replied, pointing the carton of milk in her direction. "They were accomplished — and single-minded in their pursuits … of me."

Christian reveled in their verbal jousting, especially now that there were no more walls between them. After the month they'd just shared, he felt more open with her than ever. Ana, however, was not exactly in a sharing mood.

"Stepford girlfriends," she observed wryly.

"Willing partners," he parried back, unaware of the landmine he'd just stepped on.

"So let me get this straight, you only dated accomplished and _accommodating_ women? I presume they were all" — clearing her throat — "eager to please?"

"Hey, it's not like they were ditzes or tramps," he defended himself, digging into his cornflakes. "But yes I suppose for the most part they did what I requested of them if that's what you're hinting at, none too subtly I might add. Nothing outlandish — I don't have a sex dungeon in the basement or anything," he laughed. "But otherwise, of course, I'm a red-blooded heterosexual male. I had free reign — blowjobs, anal, the usual."

"The usual eh? Tough life," she scoffed, leaving off the "chauvinistic ass" at the end.

 _Anal sex?_ She was a married woman most of her life — missionary with the lights on during the week was a rip-rollicking adventure. _And only an old married fart would refer to sex as rip-rollicking. Good grief, they were probably limber too. I can barely touch my toes!_

Ana was out of her league with Christian, and if she ever needed a confirmation that she could never measure up to his past conquests, this was it. This and the parade of supermodels he'd bedded neatly categorized on his profile page.

Christian saw her wheels spinning but wasn't worried. He had nothing to hide. _Why do women get so jealous of ex-girlfriends? If I had any interest in them they wouldn't be exes, would they?_

He put his cereal down and came up behind her, imprisoning her in his arms and nipping at that sensitive spot below her ear in an attempt to ease her jealousy pangs _. A quick fuck should do the trick._

His hands slinked around to cup her breasts but Ana wriggled out of his embrace, which suddenly felt claustrophobic. _How many women has he shut up with those hands?_

"I don't think I can do this Christian," she said out of nowhere.

He rushed back to her side, instinctively wrapping his arms around her again.

"What do you mean?" he asked, tilting his head in concern. "Butt sex?"

She looked to the heavens. _Lord grant me patience._

"No Christian," she said as if he were a child, "though that's on the list. No I'm referring to your Rolodex of CEO beauty queens. I mean seriously, did you date anyone with even a blemish or a bachelor's degree?"

She wrenched out of his hold again and began pacing the room. He just watched her, bewildered by her interrogation. _Weren't we about to fuck after breakfast?_

"I mean for God's sake, my idea of makeup is fruit-flavored lip balm from the pharmacy. I have no idea how to put a shirt on without getting deodorant stains on it. It took me five years to finish college — and even then I was scrambling. You're a millionaire stockbroker — or whatever the hell you do for a living because I still can't quite figure it out — and I haven't fully mastered the art of emoticons yet. Your gaudy bathroom is bigger than my basement apartment."

 _Gaudy?_

"I get excited when I have $20 in my pocket, and it usually lasts me six months. Hell, I have the same wallet I had in high school! Apparently I even have the same coffee maker."

Amused, Christian crossed his arms and perched himself against the wall. _She's adorable when she's pouting._

Flustered, Ana stopped pacing but she wasn't done with her tirade of self-doubt.

"I have rolls and wrinkles. I even still have acne, which is really unfair to have at the same time as wrinkles by the way. It's supposed to be one or the other. And I'm pretty sure I'm starting to grow nose hairs," she said, instantly regretting that last tidbit of information.

Christian was thoroughly enjoying her little hissy fit. He wanted to laugh but as inexperienced as he was with relationships, even he knew better.

"You and me — it's like Hugh Jackman and his wife. They appear on every one of those online ads saying, 'Gorgeous celebrities who married ugly people.'"

That did it. He snorted out loud at the melodramatic nonsense she was spouting.

"Don't be silly. I'm way better looking than Hugh Jackman. And I'll loan you my nose hair clippers. There, problem solved," he said, dismissing her tantrum and returning to his cereal. He'd fuck her a few more times today if that's what it took to make her feel more desirable, he thought mischievously.

"Look, I can't have this perpetual cloud hanging over me Christian. Everything about you is so … overwhelming." She took a deep breath, summoning her courage. "I can't compete with this — and I don't _want_ to compete with this. Not with your women, your money, your insatiable appetite for … you know, or all the stuff that makes you … you. I can't be in a relationship where I'm always second-guessing how I stack up. It's not healthy."

He put his spoon down and regarded her apprehensively. _Is she serious right now?_

"I'm not an insecure person but I'm human and I know I'll constantly be comparing myself to your exes, to your lifestyle. So will your friends. They'll all be wondering what the hell you see in me!"

"I don't have friends — I have acquaintances I could care less about— and I barely remember the names of my exes," he retorted, baffled as to what inspired this epic meltdown. "And there wouldn't be any comparison. Were you in the same room with me last night? We're good together Ana. Stop overanalyzing it."

He refused to acknowledge her mini-breakdown and tried to go back to his cereal, which now looked nauseating. _I'm not pandering to her paranoia. I'm not doing it. She has a past and so do I — and neither of us can undo it. I've got the fucking love of her life to contend with!_

Ana struggled to verbalize her hang-ups, which went far deeper than superficial girlfriends and gilded bathrooms.

"It's not just your little black book of Ph.D. playthings or your wads of cash Christian. That's not what this is about."

"Then what? What the fuck is this all about?" he erupted, slamming his bowl of cereal on the table. He'd reached his breaking point.

"First of all you need to stop shouting or I won't tell you shit," she fired back, promptly silencing him.

"Second of all, you're new to this relationship thing — I'm not. And I refuse to be your guinea pig. What happens when you get tired of playing house with me after three months? I get kicked to the curb and wind up on your social media graveyard? That's your standard MO isn't it?" she sniped.

Her arrow hit the mark. "Yes three months is my typical timeframe. Thank you for keeping score," he said through gritted teeth, the menacing calm in his voice belying the anger underneath.

Ana saw his muscles tense and jaw tick as he tried to keep his fury in check. She needed to salvage this before it got out of hand.

"I'm sorry, that was cruel and out of line of me. Your past is your past, just like mine is mine, and it shouldn't have any bearing on us."

He relaxed a bit when he heard her use the word "us."

"That's not what's bothering me. I've just never been with anyone like you Christian. You're amazing. _This_ ," she said, motioning toward the bedroom, "is absolutely amazing. Like nothing I've ever experienced. But no matter how great that spark is, it never lasts. It may be weeks, months or years, but trust me, it always burns out. Chemistry fades. And when it does, you have to have a solid foundation on which to build something in its place."

"And we don't'?" he asked, panic seeping into his voice.

"Yes. No. I don't know! That's the point — I'm not even remotely ready to figure that out yet! This is too much, too fast. Hell, some days I wake up and forget that I'm not married any more. I'm not ready for this. I've only been separated for six months and we've known each other a few weeks!"

Christian took two long strides toward her, his face looming over hers as the last shred of his control unraveled. "So when exactly will you know Anastasia?"

He was seething now. He had bared everything to this woman and she was turning her back on him. _What was this to her — a Goddamn fling? Fuck her wishy-washy shit! This is exactly why I don't get involved with anyone._

Ana could feel the rage emanating from him, but she wouldn't be intimidated by his bullying.

"Answer me," he barked, making her jump. _Maybe a little intimidated._ "How much time do you need?"

"I don't know Christian! You being a jackass right now is not exactly helping your cause. I need to get my shit straightened out before I dive back into something serious. Surely you of all people can understand that? You avoided commitment like kryptonite all your life but all of a sudden a small break pisses you off?"

He struggled — and failed spectacularly — to rein in his temper, grasping her arms and hauling her up so that her face was level with his.

"Yes actually it does piss me off because I don't want a break from you," he snarled. "Am I just supposed to just sit around and wait while you take your sweet-ass time deciding whether you want to be with me? Maybe I just twiddle my thumbs while you fuck some guy you met online?" _Or worse, go back to your husband? FUCK!_

"Is this just your polite way of dumping me?" he yelled, his rage boiling over. "If so just spit it out."

Ana wasn't scared of him, but she was sorry for the pain she'd caused him. _How did this snowball so badly? Because you did try to dump him Ana!_

She lit this fuse and needed to extinguish it.

"Christian please, there's still so much you don't know about me. Not like some deep dark secret but not exactly things I advertise on social media either. You may not even want to be with me once you know everything about me."

"Then tell me Ana. It's not going to scare me off. I want to know."

"I will but I need time. It's not that easy. I want us to really get to know each other before we rush into anything. Our friendship has meant so much to me. I can't risk losing it — not at this stage in my life, not when I'm all alone. I need you," she choked out, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. _What do I say to him? What do I even want from him?_

He slackened his grip and set her back down but didn't release her.

"You're not alone," he said, contrite. "And I need you too. I've never been with anyone like you, and I don't mean that in a negative way. Everything is so different with you." He sighed. "I don't want us to end. I want us to work Ana."

"I do too Christian," she croaked out. "It means so much to me that this is special to you, but that's also a lot of pressure for such a short span of time. I wasn't prepared for this kind of commitment so soon after getting separated. I didn't mean to wig out on you but I really am feeling overwhelmed. You told me in Paris that you didn't want to complicate things. That's all I'm asking for now. Give me some time to process this, us. Not months, not even weeks — just a little breathing room to get some perspective. This is all too much for me. Please," she implored him.

Christian wiped a stray tear that ran down her cheek and rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, her pleas for patience finally sinking in.

"Time. OK Ana. I'll give you that — but not an endless amount of it," he warned, still fuming. _Just an hour ago I thought we'd be spending the day together in bed, but now I'm back in the fucking friend zone._

He took a few deep breaths to calm his frayed nerves. When he saw her lip begin to quiver, he ran his thumb alongside the bottom to soothe her. "I just want to be with you Ana, I know you want me and I don't see why we have to wait. But I'll back off until you're ready. I promise not to pressure you."

"Thank you," she sniffed.

"Please don't cry. I'm sorry." Christian gave her a gentle kiss to atone for his earlier outburst, cradling her tear-stained face. When he felt her reciprocate, his tongue slipped inside and his kiss grew more insistent as he pulled her flush against him. She was so soft and pliable in his arms. _If she'd just stop over-thinking for one minute I could make her forget this bedroom break bullshit…_

Ana did forget, until his erection poked her back into reality. _Wow he managed to give me all of five seconds. What a patient guy!_ She ignored the harpy voice that reminded her what a weak woman she was.

She broke off their now heated kiss before it made their "friendship" a foregone conclusion. _Like it isn't already,_ they both thought.

"Christian, I'm thinking I need to explain the friend concept again because you seem to be a little confused by how it works."

"No I get it," he grumbled, releasing her reluctantly. He walked to the other end of the room, running his hands through his hair. "I won't push you. The last thing I want to do is push you away. We can do the _platonic_ friend thing. For now," he added pointedly.

The rest of their morning was robotic as they went through the motions, careful not to bump into each other, as if one accidental touch might electrocute them. The temperature in the room had definitely plummeted. Christian's demeanor was even colder.

"Do you want to meet up later? Are you staying in town or do you need to head back?" Ana asked in a vain attempt to fill the silence.

"I'm going," was all he said. _What does she expect after she unceremoniously dumped me? Not to mention dumping ice water down my pants._

She nodded in disappointment. _What did I expect after my little freak-out — and denying a man sex?_

Digging deep to find an ounce of chivalry, Christian offered to take Ana to her hair appointment — the one she booked right after she started seeing him — before he drove to the airport.

The car ride was excruciating. Ana was social while Christian was withdrawn. He stuck to one-word answers or one-syllable grunts to all of her questions, acting more like a petulant teenager than a world-renowned financier. _Fine, he wants to be a baby then I'll just listen to the radio._

Fed up with his cold shoulder, Ana was ready to slam the door on him when they pulled up in front of the salon. But then she felt the touch of his hand on her arm.

"Wait, don't go. Can I still see you next weekend?" he asked sheepishly. "I'll improve my … attitude toward our new arrangement." In that moment he morphed from truculent teen to lost little boy.

"Of course," she smiled, relieved. "I'd love to see you Christian. Can you come down here again?" _Because I really don't want to get into another argument about how I get up to New York._ "Or is that too much trouble? I can come up too. I don't want to assume because I know you might have things to do in New York…"

"For you Ana, it's no trouble," he said, lifting her hand to plant butterfly kisses on her knuckles. Maybe he had some chivalry left after all.


	18. Chapter 18: PREGNANT PAUSE

_**AUTHOR'S WARNING:**_ _Time for the story to get serious. The next two chapters_ __ _deal exclusively with infertility. They may be long and boring to some or painful to others who've experienced this. But they give an unvarnished view of pregnancy loss and form the backbone of Ana and Christian's story and how they start to overcome their demons. I hope it doesn't get tedious but this is actually how I began this project — as a cathartic outlet, not as a fanfic or romance per se — so bear that in mind._

 _Obviously some of this is autobiographical, while I've taken artistic license with other parts. Perhaps this will start to explain some of Ana's insecurities. Some people have commented that they don't understand why she has low self-esteem. Like I said, it's no secret that Ana is in a lot of ways based on me and my experiences (so I love the reviews that appreciate how "real" she is, because in a lot of ways she is!), but I think a lot of people have self-esteem issues, and appear confident on the outside but don't necessarily feel the same way on the inside. As grey girl 618 said – people don't always see in themselves what others see._

 _Also, I found all the comments that Ana is still mourning the loss of her marriage completely on point. She may no longer want to be married to Jose, but that does not mean she doesn't miss their relationship, which for the most part was good. It is a slow healing process — and yes, that is something Christian has to compete with. Ana will slowly come to discover what a threat it is to him (men are men, so he doesn't open up to her at first about his insecurities)._

 _After the next two chapters, Christian will reveal his back-story and some of his secrets, so the next three chapters are heavy, but integral to the plot. I'm posting the next two chapters at once so that it's more cohesive. I've always said this story was about real people and real problems. Well, it's about to get real!_

 _I would truly love feedback, but be merciful! The reviews seem to have petered out, which is a shame because I really love them and take them into account, so I'd love to know your thoughts – thanks!_

 **CHAPTER 18: EXPECT EVERYTHING WHEN YOU'RE EXPECTING**

Christian spent the week mired in a strategy session — devising ways to get Ana back. _The key is winning her trust. She's obviously holding out on me. She mentioned medical problems in Paris. I'll start there. I've got to finagle — no finesse — it out her and then she'll let me back in … to the bedroom._

Ana spent the week wrestling with her own demons. Her reticence was born of real fears. She had embarked down the path of commitment before and knew what it entailed: all the passion, fights, angst, discoveries and the zeal of young love that evolves into life-affirming devotion or, occasionally, devolves into heartbreak.

She was in the bathroom primping for a job interview, trying to make her scrunchie-held ponytail look as professional as possible, when she stopped to stare at her reflection. _Can I really start from scratch with someone new? Someone like Christian? I'm not 19 anymore. I'm weathered, tired. I've got 16 years of beautifully fucked-up baggage weighing me down._

Sitting at the large, wood-carved desk in his study, Christian ignored his double-paneled computer screen with a stock market ticker tape running along the bottom and contemplated where he'd gone wrong with Ana. _I spooked her. I came on too strong, too fast. You've got to be subtle Christian. This has to be done delicately or you'll scare her off even more._

A symbol on the ticker tape caught his eye, and he picked up the phone. "Andrea, get the arbitrageur to short sell Yian Telecom before their merger goes through but make sure they've got all the antitrust clearances. I expect the paperwork in my inbox in 30 minutes," he ordered before slamming down the receiver.

Delicate was going to be difficult.

That Friday night, their reunion was tense, a cloud of unspoken recriminations permeating the air. The minute Christian took Ana into his arms for a hug that slightly exceeded the bounds of friendship, delicate went out the window. _Fuck the friend zone. I'm bulldozing my way back into that bedroom. Game on Ms. Steele!_

"Is this place OK?" Christian asked as he pulled her chair out in the cozy, mid-priced restaurant he'd strategically chosen.

"It's great. It reminds me of those Irish pubs I loved in Dublin!" she squeaked excitedly.

 _Oh I remember baby. Checkmate Grey!_

The hedge fund impresario was ruthless in his pursuit of the truth, plying Ana with wine and questions, but she was Romanian and a journalist and could hold her own on both counts. When Christian asked about the faded scars he'd seen on her abdomen, she vaguely dismissed them as "an old minor surgery from years ago." When he hounded her about "sob stories," referencing their very first conversation, she reminisced about Paris and planes.

"I'm always careful when I eat Shepherd's pie. Once I got food poisoning from lamb and spent a week in the hospital. Do you have any idea what it's like to be stuck in a hospital room for that long?" he said casually, continuing their intricate dance.

"I can't imagine, especially considering your infinite level of patience," she quipped, skirting around the issue.

 _One step back._

Dribs and drabs of information trickled out — she wasn't having any luck on the job search and her divorce proceedings were moving along — but for the most part the dam stayed shut. Ana eluded all his attempts to outmaneuver her, relying on her patented diversion technique to shift the spotlight back onto him.

"So I read you're getting into the telecom business. How's that going?" she asked, shrewdly sidestepping his bizarre question about why patients can't use cell phones in doctors' offices.

She's a real journalist, Christian thought — _a hound dog when it comes to asking questions and Fort Knox when it comes to answering them._

Finally, he gave up on his little fishing expedition, not wanting to waste the precious time he had with her. "Do you want to take a walk around the National Mall and Tidal Basin? You said it looks nice at night," he asked as they drove from the restaurant, unwilling to end their date just yet.

"I'd love to," she clapped her hands, temporarily lifting Christian's brooding mood.

They walked in leisurely silence in the crisp fall air, Christian resisting the urge to hold her hand every time she strayed down the wrong towpath. A tableau of iconic landmarks — the Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial and Smithsonian Castle — stretched out before them, their backlit reflections shimmering across the tranquil waters of the Potomac River.

Against this backdrop of illuminated history, Ana debated whether it was time to shed light on her own past.

"D.C. is magical at night," she said, her reverie slicing the evening stillness. "It finally feels like a real capital city. The lights bring out its grandeur, and the darkness covers up the imperfections."

A magical illusion, she thought. _Apt metaphor. Maybe I should stop concealing my own imperfections?_

"Umm hmm," Christian nodded, lost in his own thoughts.

 _Just do it Ana! He's been trying to wheedle it out of you for weeks and he'll figure it out sooner or later._

She wasn't necessarily afraid to tell Christian about the difficulties she'd experienced over the last three years, because he was obviously fixated on them and probably overinflating them in his mind.

But she didn't like to cast herself as a victim because of a few mishaps in life. She always reasoned that other people go through far worse traumas — cancer, death, foreclosure — and that hers paled in comparison. But it was her story, and it was time to share it.

Her face pallid, hands clammy and heart racing, she dove into the deep end.

"Christian I know you've been dropping less-than-subtle hints about my sob story."

Christian blanched, the color in his face mirroring Ana's. She was finally going to let him in. He felt victorious yet nervous at the same time. _What if my reaction doesn't live up to her expectations? I'm not exactly the maternal type — let alone proven boyfriend material._

But he braced himself to hear what she had to say and made a mental vow to support her. _Vow?_

He nodded weakly, his expression blank, his hands shaking.

She took a fortifying breath and looked straight ahead. "I'm 35 and was with my husband for 16 years. You've probably deduced what our main challenge was, given that in all that time we didn't have any kids."

Being the consummate bachelor, the thought never occurred to Christian.

"I had a long battle with infertility, one I lost. Well, it wasn't that we _couldn't_ conceive — I just couldn't carry it to term. I had a miscarriage and two ectopic pregnancies, the last of which nearly killed me. In between I had a severely over-active thyroid that further ruined my chances of having a child and was icing on an otherwise rotten cake."

The pregnant pause seemed fitting, she thought darkly. Ana wasn't ashamed by her no-holds-barred confession. If he thought less of her because she couldn't have children, that was his problem, not hers. She made peace with her limitations and piss-poor luck a long time ago. _Well, maybe not peace — more like abject surrender, kicking and screaming._

Christian fought to steady himself as they marched forward, the detached melancholy in her voice knocking the wind out of him. He knew he was getting the abbreviated version of events and wanted her to expound on them, without reliving them. He'd already poked and prodded her into exposing this raw nerve and didn't want to drive her away. Too late for that, he thought, scrubbing his face with both hands.

 _She probably wants nothing to do with me now that I've browbeaten her into sharing the most traumatic experience of her life with a virtual stranger. She almost fucking died for God's sake! Wise move you meddling dickwad!_

Christian clenched his fists and cracked his neck. He was livid with himself, with what she had to endure — and most of all with his own impotence that he couldn't help her.

Ana mistook the tight-set lines in his jaw for fury — at her for bringing up such a personal subject. _I knew this was too much to unload on someone I'd just met. I've known this man for barely a month and I just told him about my pussy problems for God's sake!_

"I'm sorry. I know this is awkward. I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. We can change the subject. It's no big deal," she offered.

He rounded on her, a look of alarm sweeping his face. "No Ana. _I'm_ the one who's sorry. That this happened to you. That I forced you into telling me about it."

"You didn't force me Christian. I don't mind talking about it, but I won't force _you_ into listening. That's not fair. It's a lot for anyone to digest," she shrugged.

Desperate to reassure her, he cradled her face in his hands and reverentially kissed her forehead, inhaling her scent. "I think you're so brave Ana," he breathed. "I want you to tell me everything or nothing at all — as much as you're comfortable revealing. I want to hear whatever you have to say. Help me understand. I swear to you I'll listen to anything and everything you deign to share with me. It would be an honor."

He stroked her cheek and gave her a timid smile, tucking an unruly curl behind her ear. His compassion floored her — and him.

"OK, I know it's not always easy for a man to hear this kind of stuff," she began tentatively. "And let's face it, infertility is still a taboo topic. You can have cancer and wave a pink flag around and the world will raise marathon funds for you; you can break a leg and your friends will help you get around; hell, you can catch a sinus infection and garner a million sympathy likes online. But losing a child, an unborn one — people don't know how to react to that. I don't blame them. The inability to bear a child is not exactly a conversation starter," she said grimly.

"You're right — I'm at a loss what to say other than to tell you how much it pains me that you had to suffer through this Ana. But don't let my lack of experience in this arena prevent you from opening up to me. I want to be the one you share this with. Please," he said, his eyes imploring her to trust him.

She did, and began to recount in vivid detail the losses that were now seared into her memory.

"I was never particularly obsessed with the idea of starting a family like a lot of other girls," she began as they resumed their slow walk. "My husband and I traveled the world, stayed out for last call at bars and enjoyed the perks of careers that were on the upswing. And we genuinely enjoyed each other's company. I wasn't too keen on dirty diapers and 3 a.m. feedings putting the kibosh on all of that."

He nodded, instinctively wrapping his arm around her shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze.

"But a woman's biological clock sneaks up on her, dictating her choices, for better or worse. So in my 30s, when all my high school friends were on their second or third babies, I knew it was time. We started off casually. No results. But the minute we got down to business, it happened — right on schedule.

"I was excited, naturally, but terrified by how our lives would change. I was also narcissistic, worrying I'd get fat and never get my body back, like it was some temple to begin with," she scoffed.

"I was selfish, bitching and moaning about the fact that I couldn't touch alcohol or coffee for nine months. It seemed like a lifetime," she said, shaking her head at her naïveté. "And above all I was profoundly ungrateful. I spent my time complaining about such petty crap. It never dawned on me that something could go wrong and it could all be taken away from me."

Christian's heart constricted.

"But just like that, poof, it _was_ gone. There was a strong heartbeat one week. One week later, the expression on the nurse doing my sonogram told me everything I needed to know," she sighed, her eyes vacant but dry. She refused to shed any more tears for that day.

Christian took her hand and lightly kissed it in silent solidarity. "You are not narcissistic, selfish or ungrateful. You are human Ana — an awe-inspiring one at that," he said, radiating sincerity.

She nodded, unconvinced. "You never know how much you want something until it's snatched from you," she mused.

He closed his eyes, the sentiment resonating deep within him. "Very true. Please keep going."

Ana squared her shoulders. "Suddenly I began to notice just how many people on the street had kids, how many of our friends had kids or were expecting them. Watch TV or read the internet — pregnant women are prolific," she sneered. He dropped a kiss on her head in agreement.

"Anyway, I imagined what their lives were like with children — and how empty mine was without one. I became obsessed with having a baby, with what went wrong, with how to prevent it from happening again. I have replayed every decision I made in the days leading up to that miscarriage over and over, dissecting each move. Did I exert myself too much walking in the humidity? Should I not have worn heels? Should I have skipped that wine while we were trying? Did I not want it badly enough and God punished me for it? That last one haunts me to this day. God and I are no longer on speaking terms," she reflected sadly.

Christian kept his arm securely wrapped around her shoulder as he patiently guided her along the dirt path. "Don't worry, we have a troubled relationship as well. I've been giving Him the silent treatment for years. But you know this wasn't a punishment right? You did nothing wrong Ana," he said, his eyes boring into hers.

"Um hmm," she replied mechanically, kicking a rock on the ground.

He chose not to berate her for the guilt she so clearly harbored. "Please don't stop. I'm listening. Go on," he encouraged when he sensed her hesitation.

"It was such a shock to my system — it wasn't supposed to be that way. You never know it's so common until it happens to you and then everyone comes out of the woodwork to share their story — a nurse, a long-time friend, a co-worker. It's insidious," she said, her omnipresent sense of injustice percolating below the surface.

Just then, they were halted by a bicyclist speeding through the crowd, ringing his bell. "Jackass. I hate those stupid little bells," she muttered, eliciting a chuckle from Christian.

He pulled her out of the way and used the bell-abusing bicyclist as an excuse to rub his hands up and down Ana's arms, both to keep her warm and to console her. It was such a loving gesture that it gave her the courage to keep going.

"I was like everyone else. I always just assumed you got pregnant and that was it. When it doesn't work out that way, it pulls the rug out from underneath your well-ordered expectations. You nosedive into a tailspin of shock, self-loathing and finally reluctant acceptance. But that's the thing about infertility — it's hard to accept. So we dusted ourselves off and kept going.

"We began timing sex — which, by the way, isn't very sexy." _Even now she has her trademark humor. Amazing._

"I tried to be 'healthy,' going against my better nature. We broached the subject of IVF. I quit my bad habits and walked on eggshells every month — on a high when my hopes were up, and a low when they were dashed.

"Finally, after a year, we made the requisite visit to a fertility clinic. We did the homework, passed all the tests with flying colors and were told our chances were 'excellent.' Those doctors also specialize in hyperbole by the way," she muttered dryly.

"It starts off low-key — just hormone shots and some exams. Sure enough, within the first month, I was pregnant. Again, according to schedule. But something was off."

His stomach sank.

"Do you really want to know the nitty gritty details?" she asked, sensing his reaction.

"Yes I really do Anastasia, more than you know," he said adamantly, kissing her head and protectively tucking her into the crook of his arm as they walked. She was grateful — this way she didn't have to face him during her intimate confessional.

"I had some minor bleeding, a constant lower backache and none of the pregnancy symptoms were as pronounced as before. I knew my levels were off too, so I did what any normal woman in my situation would do. We scour the internet to cherry-pick stories of people in similar circumstances whose pregnancies _did_ work out. Then we pin our hopes on the fact that we'll be the 'exception' too, just like they were.

"By my first sonogram, though, I knew what the verdict was. I'd seen that expression before. That's the thing about the internet: It teaches you too much for your own good. It was an ectopic, which, if you're not familiar with them, are no joke."

"They're life-threatening. That's about all I know," he said as they retraced their steps along the same loop for the eighth time.

"That's the crux of it. As soon as I got the wonderful news, all I remember is a whirlwind of doctors dispensing unhelpful advice and conflicting orders. At first I was told a regimen of medicine could take care of the 'problem,' and then my own doctor rushed in — belatedly I might add — urging me to go to the ER to get one of my tubes removed.

"I was blown away. Imagine being told your chances of getting pregnant are excellent, trying hormones for just one month, they work splendidly, and then all of a sudden you're informed that one of your tubes has to go. And that will cut your future pregnancy prospects by half. Oh, and you're only in your early 30s and have no other children.

"It was all so fast. I didn't want to make a mistake that would screw me for the rest of my life. I tried to slow things down, come up with an alternative and be heard amid the harangue of doctors and nurses, but in the end I gave in. What choice did I have? I was told my life was on the line, so ER it was."

Christian caught Ana before she could stumble on a rock, gingerly holding her close to him. He was dying — from listening to her, from not being able to kiss her the way he wanted to, not giving her the affection she deserved. But he settled for a peck on the cheek that he hoped conveyed the depths of his admiration for her.

"Ana, I can't imagine what it was like to go through this, but I have so much respect for you. You told me in Paris that some people handle adversity with grace, and that you're not one of those people. I'm sorry if this sounds callous but that's horseshit. You're too rough on yourself," he told her, a lump in his throat

"So what happened next?" Christian prompted when he didn't get a response.

"I got patched up. The recovery was more grueling physically after the ectopic, but the previous miscarriage was tougher mentally. That one I wasn't prepared for, whereas with the ectopic, I had an inkling that something was wrong. Plus, by that point, I had learned the hard lesson that pregnancies don't always go according to plan. You should expect _everything_ — good and bad — when you're expecting.

"It took me about a week to recover from the surgery. I was up and moving again, but then I shut down emotionally. I became comatose, fusing myself to the bed. But after another week of wallowing, everyone expected me to get over it, so I did what was expected of me. I got over it.

"That's the thing about infertility: It doesn't wait for your invisible wounds to heal. The clock is always ticking. So we started up again, harder this time. More hormones, more shots, more side effects, more visits, more money, more heartache."

Christian pulled her tightly to his side, refusing to ease up on his ironclad grip. He couldn't get close enough to her. He reached over with his other hand and laced his fingers with hers, unconsciously playing with her bare ring finger. Ana was too lost in her past to notice.

"Truth is, my heart wasn't in it. I was drained. It's such an all-consuming, soul-deadening process — one that in our case only took from us, but never gave back. And it does take over your life. You spend weeks researching every medical journal and clinical study, every success story, every obscure online chat room to validate what you're going through. You count down the days until your next appointment, until you ovulate, until your next period, until you can take a test and then you start all over. Before you know it, six months have flown by without shit to show for them. It depleted our energy, our life savings and our ability to connect. Our once-vibrant world became colorless."

The resignation in her voice slayed him. "I'm so sorry baby," he croaked out, scooping her up into his arms to give her a quick hug and place a tender kiss on her temple before setting her back down.

"Thank you," she said, trying to regain her balance. "And the worst part is you can't tell anyone. There's such a stigma attached to infertility — even the word 'ectopic' sounds weird. It's not like training for a marathon or writing a book, where you can brag about your daily progress. 'March 16: I peed on a stick.' Woo hoo, congratulations!"

He couldn't help but laugh, planting another kiss in her hair out of habit.

"Every time our friends would ask what we've been up to, we couldn't tell them. They'd always ask why we hadn't traveled to anywhere exotic lately. Ummm, because I had to be available to prop my legs up in stirrups at the drop of a hat; because our entire life savings was being steadily suctioned off, with no guarantee it would be worth it; because I couldn't party or drink since my bubble-wrapped body was being prepped for a baby; because I was pumping myself full of hormones that made me a lunatic; because my life was in a permanent holding pattern of anticipation and disappointment," she said, her voice reaching a crescendo.

"Fuck sorry! I really need to get a grip here." Even she was taken aback by the resentment and animosity spewing out of her. She sounded bitter. She _was_ bitter.

Nonplussed, Christian just bent down to give her another reassuring kiss on the head. "You don't need to hold anything back from me. Don't ever feel ashamed. I love that you opened up to me. I love listening to you," he told her, a ball of emotion lodged in his throat. _Love._ The words dangled on his lips but his own disbelief prevented him from setting them free.

"Eventually, another year rolled by," she continued, reciting the series of events she had memorized by heart. "We were agonizing over whether to spend thousands on one test that might tell us more about our chances with IVF, or just roll the dice on the procedure itself. In hindsight, we should've just gone to Vegas," she snorted.

He gave her shoulders a light squeeze, urging her to continue.

"We finally decided to gamble on IVF, but a week before we could start, I began to have bizarre symptoms. I chalked it up to nerves, but then I lost 30 pounds overnight, went from sleeping 12 hours a day to two hours and feeling energized — like 80 cups of coffee energized.

"Yet another round of doctors confirmed the diagnosis: hyperthyroidism due to Graves disease, a hereditary condition that kicks your metabolism into high gear. It mostly afflicts women — _of course_ it would — and appears in your mid-30s, usually due to stress. I fit the profile perfectly. I assumed the thyroid thing was just a minor bump in the road, but it derailed all the fertility planning."

"I had an aunt who had it, so I'm vaguely familiar with it," Christian said, lowering his hand to rub lazy circles on her lower spine as they walked. "She had a scar on her throat from where they removed the thyroid. Back then I guess surgery was the only option."

"Yeah nowadays they do radiation, but that was off the table because I'd have to wait a year to do IVF. So I opted for surgery, which would _only_ delay it by about six months," she explained. "First though I had to get my thyroid levels down before it was safe to operate, but then I wasn't able to tolerate the meds. They dropped my white blood cell count and I got sick. So I stopped treatment and my levels shot back up. The temporary glitch was becoming permanent, and honestly I began to give up.

"IVF seemed like a distant prospect, and the hyperthyroidism was now taking over my life anyway. I couldn't concentrate, I ate like a lumberjack but couldn't hold food down and I was too weak to walk up a flight of stairs even though my heart was racing a mile a minute. My doctor never told me how serious the condition could become if left untreated. She dropped out of sight after taking maternity leave. Ironic huh?

"Bitch," Christian snickered.

She giggled. "I like that you know where your loyalties lie. Smart man."

"Always with you," he murmured into her hair. "What happened next?"

"After a few months, I'd adapted to the changes but the thyroid was quietly ravaging my body — and mind. That stupid little organ is like a puppeteer, pulling all the strings. I was on a permanent trip, but a bad one. My personality changed. My brain felt like it wasn't functioning. I was going at warp-speed, and eventually the high catches up to you. It was a dark period in my life," she said, rueful and distant.

Christian could tell she was skipping over certain chapters but wasn't about to push her. He simply kept his arm locked around her shoulder as he guided her through the dusty path, the expansive backdrop of the National Mall sprawled out before them like a visual feast. The tourists and jogging milling around them faded into the background. "Go on baby," he quietly urged.

"Finally I found a good endocrinologist — who told me I should've been hospitalized months earlier given how off-the-charts my levels were — and I got my thyroid under control. But by then the infertility battle was moot. I felt beat down and couldn't get back up. It's pathetic. You read about women who go through eight or nine miscarriages before having their miracle. It made me feel so inadequate because I was such a chicken-shit quitter compared to what they went through — with a lot less griping I might add."

"Don't do that. Don't minimize what you endured or belittle your strength," Christian chastised her, regretting if his words came out harsh. "You survived the loss of two children Ana."

"Thank you." And she meant it. Not everyone sees unrealized pregnancies as children.

"Regardless, I wanted off the roller-coaster ride. By the time the third ectopic rolled around — a happy 'accident' — I was a zombie. Nothing fazed me anymore. Incredibly long story short, it ruptured. I passed out. I bled profusely. Six hours and three transfusions later, for whatever reason the Gods decided to spare me," she said, almost spitefully. "It didn't matter by that point anyway. I was already dead inside. My marriage disintegrated shortly afterward."

She stopped her tale there, unwilling to delve into another. _There it is — the convoluted saga of my womb. You officially have permission to go screaming for the hills._

He wasn't going anywhere.

Christian hated how small and fragile Ana looked compared to the spitfire who stood up to him at the airport. Her shoulders sagged, the weight of unspoken heartache bearing down on them. Christian automatically reached over and began massaging them. He wanted so badly to alleviate her pain, to erase the last three years from her life.

"You try to create a life and instead it saps the life out of you," she snorted. "The irony is cruel. It makes me so fucking mad — the entire process was so degrading… Oh, never mind. It's not worth revisiting."

She was shaking, with a mixture of relief and trepidation. It had been months since she talked about her ordeal to anyone, and even then only in bits and pieces. It felt liberating, but Ana didn't want to overstep her bounds and forever cast herself as the infertile basket case.

 _There's so much more I can say. It's been so long since someone just let me vent. But he doesn't really want to hear this. No one ever does. He's just appeasing me so he doesn't look like an insensitive ass._

He sensed her internal debate and was determined to resolve it for her.

"You don't have to keep going if you don't want to Ana, but you don't have to stop either. I may not know what to say but I'm here for you either way. I can be your sounding board, shoulder to cry on, whatever you need," he told her, willing her to continue.

"Don't stop," he said, more authoritatively when she didn't respond, kissing her head to take the sting out. "I don't want you to. You need to get this out and I want to hear it. Let it go. Let me in."

Finally, after several minutes of silence, the dam burst open.


	19. Chapter 19: STIGMA AND RAGE

**CHAPTER 19: STIGMA AND RAGE**

"I think about that first miscarriage every single day. I know it was just a cluster of cells but it was a child, _my_ child. It may have been the size of a lima bean, but it contained an entire lifetime's worth of hopes, hugs, tears, birthdays, graduations, fights and love that was never realized. It was a living, breathing entity that had a soul and was taken before its time — before it had a chance to … be."

Christian shivered at Ana's mournful but beautiful lament to her dead child.

"I had a name picked out for a little girl — Sabrina, very Parisian," she recalled, as if in a trance. "But for some reason I always pictured it being a boy. I don't know why — just silly intuition."

"Sabrina is a lovely name," Christian said.

"Yes it would've been," she smiled wistfully. "For some reason the ectopics never struck the same chord in me. I knew off the bat something was wrong with those. There were telltale signs and I just knew they weren't meant to work out. But that first one, that first baby, it _was_ supposed to work out," she said, her voice rising, wobbly but unwavering.

He kissed the top of her head and tucked an errant strand behind her ear. Christian didn't want to interrupt, but he needed to show her that he cared. _More than care…_ "You shouldn't have to carry around this burden every day Ana. I wish I could take it from you."

"I appreciate that. It's no one's fault or responsibility though. And you heal, physically at least, but it takes such a lingering toll on you mind. Infertility doesn't happen overnight. It slowly chips away at your sanity, month after month, until before you know it, years of your life have disappeared, along with the person you used to be. I had spiraled down so far, so gradually, that by the time I re-emerged, I didn't recognize who I was any more.

"I robotically cycled through the stages of grief, but they never really end. That's just convenient psychobabble. People assume you get over it but that's bullshit," she spit out, the vehemence in her voice catching her by surprise.

"Sorry," she exhaled. "But you never get over it. Time blunts the pain but you still feel hollow, like someone ripped your insides out and then expects you to walk around with this gaping hole in your stomach and act like everything's normal. It's a yawning chasm that can't be filled. That's probably what they mean by that old-fashioned term barren," she mused, an inappropriate giggle escaping her lips.

"Times may have changed but society hasn't. Motherhood is an intrinsic part of being a woman Christian. It's your basic duty — it's what you're built for. Hell, all those stupid medical studies say the whole reason why men are always attracted to younger women is evolutionary instinct. They're fertile and men want to implant their 'seed' in them," she said, making air quotes and rolling her eyes in disgust.

"And when you reach a certain age and you haven't borne children, you're considered damaged goods."

He cringed at her derisive tone.

"Oh sure, not everyone winds up having children. But most people do. And whenever an older woman — no matter how successful, how content — is asked if she has kids and the answer is no, people instinctively feel sorry for her. She's viewed as a failure — pure and simple," Ana declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

"After a certain age, people stop asking anyway. When I got married, people bombarded me on my wedding day with questions about when we were having kids — like I was already knocked up or something! But then slowly, before I knew it, people stopped asking. They had given up on me. My body had failed them, and me.

"I was — I am — a failure," she said, utterly dejected and defeated.

Christian felt his heart splinter and couldn't take it any more. He abruptly yanked her back and hauled her into a bear hug that cut off her circulation, his large frame swallowing hers.

"Don't ever say that Ana. Don't even think it. That's the absolute last thing you are. You're not a failure and you're not damaged. You're so fucking beautiful it hurts," he muttered against her neck, distraught, tears streaming down his face.

"Thank you," she replied, emotionless, unaware of his crying. After a few minutes of rocking her in his arms so his tears could dry, Christian gently put her down but clasped her chin and forced her to look at him. "You know you can't blame yourself, right? None, and I mean none, of this is your fault," he said emphatically.

"The logical part of me does. I still put most of it on myself, on my choices, but yes I accept that some of it was out of my hands. There is such a thing as fate — or at least shitty-ass luck — and you eventually reconcile yourself to it," she said flatly, resuming their walk.

"I did the best I could with the medical advances that were available — which, incidentally, are prehistoric compared to how prevalent this problem is. You assume fertility centers are these high-tech places where a guy in a lab coat drops a dollop of semen in a tube and, bam, out pops a baby nine months later, but that's only how it looks in the brochures. In truth, reproductive science is very limited. Women's bodies are a mystery."

"So are women," Christian joked, nudging her shoulder playfully. She cracked a smile that made his heart soar. He exhaled. _Good move._

"I have this conspiracy theory that there's no real financial incentive to plunk money into fertility research and development. Why should you? If people are willing to go to the poor house to shell out $80,000 and the medical industry reaps the rewards, why invest in coming up with cheaper alternatives? You're the financial whiz-kid — you can investigate that one for me."

He nodded, kissing her head for the umpteenth time. He would, in fact, starting tomorrow morning.

"Anyway, the real scars, at least for me, was the process itself. It was dehumanizing, humiliating and exhausting. Did I use enough adjectives to describe how fucking awful it was?"

He smiled fondly. "You don't mince words my little thesaurus." She noticed how he emphasized the word "my" but plowed ahead with her pent-up rant.

"Women get herded through blood draws and appointments like cattle. Lawyers, business owners, bus drivers — it doesn't matter — we're all seen as victims. And we have to learn a new profession: child-making," she said, her revulsion boiling over.

"Don't let anyone tell you otherwise: Infertility is a full-time job. Ovarian reserve, sperm motility, endometriosis, IVF, IUD, HSG, AMA — it was like learning a whole new vocabulary. Hell, the fertility world has more acronyms than the freaking government. That last one by the way, AMA — advanced maternal age, for anyone over _35_ — is particularly insulting," she scoffed.

"Don't get me wrong, the doctors and nurses are all well-intentioned, but child-making is a business — a profitable one at that. If you ever want to invest in something, a fertility clinic is the place to plop your money. There will never be a shortage of women desperate to procreate — to put their bodies through torture and pay out the nose for the pleasure," she said.

"And don't even get me started on the piece of shit cocksucker insurance companies." She paused, uncertainty written on her face as she wondered whether she was going overboard with her vitriol-filled diatribe.

"I think cocksucker is too generous a term for those bloodsucking bastards actually," Christian smirked.

"Right! You spend countless hours on the phone with those cocksucker bastards, even more than the actual doctor appointments for which they refuse to pay. They're perfectly willing to cover an expensive toenail fungus treatment but not to bring a child into this world. That's considered to be an 'optional' medical condition. Like I had a _fucking_ choice! You pay hundreds of dollars each month just to have an insurance policy, and then you still have to pony up thousands more in co-pays even with that damn policy!" she said, oozing venom.

He pulled her into yet another protective embrace, which she gladly sank into. His steady, calm presence grounded her.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"You know the answer to that Ana. Go on."

She sighed and continued her Paean to wronged childless women everywhere.

"Trying to create a life upends yours. You study the stats; pour over your checkbook and credit card debt; get creative in crunching the numbers to fork over obscene amounts of money you don't have; and come up with balance sheets, temperature charts and sex schedules. You know your odds but despite them, you're convinced that you'll be among that 38% who succeed. It never dawns on you that you might be the other 62% who walk away empty-handed," she said, scrunching her nose as she recalculated her percentages. "Anyway, it distorts your sense of reality, of reason. It warps your personality, clouds your judgment. In short, you become an obsessed nutjob.

"And because it's your body, you analyze every fucking thing it does, trying to discern some larger meaning out of it. Every cramp or slight twinge floods you with hope or drowns you in sorrow. Hell, even going to the bathroom becomes a do-or-die event. I mean I actually dreaded peeing! Would my period come? If I were pregnant, would I discover drops of blood? Oh shit, sorry! TMI!"

He laughed off her embarrassment. "Please, I love your body, every square inch of it. Keep going." Her cheeks now pink, she resumed her cathartic soliloquy.

"With each disappointment, each loss, that sense of foreboding you've been trying to suppress starts to creep up on you. _What if I never have a child?_ What if it's too late and I go my entire life without giving life — without nurturing another life? What if I never know what it's like to watch a human being take shape and grow? It's so fundamental that billions of people take it for granted until they're deprived of that privilege — and pregnancy is a privilege, not a right," she said pointedly.

She was on a roll now and couldn't stop even if she wanted to.

"Oh sure, being childless is all fine and dandy when you're in your 30s and 40s and you're young and vibrant. You've got date nights with friends, family picnics, office parties, vacations to Italy. But who's going to be there when you're drooling in a nursing home? Who's going to give a shit about you when you're wrinkled and irrelevant? It's not going to be your co-workers or your college-drinking buddies. Not even that weird extended uncle. It's your offspring, your flesh and blood. Then it hits you that you could die alone, with no one by your bedside who really ever knew you — with nothing tangible to show for your life."

Her words were like a visceral punch in the gut and Christian had to swallow down the bile in his throat. She had just vocalized the universal fear that resides in everyone — himself included.

"You're not alone" was all he could croak out before he heaved into his arms again, echoing his words from their argument last week. Her vulnerability devastated yet warmed him at the same time. It obliterated everything he thought he knew about what he was capable of.

Cradling Ana's frail body in his arms, it took all of Christian's restraint not to kiss her, but he wouldn't take advantage of this moment. So he just held her and vowed to let her vent, all night if he had to. She had finally let him in and he wouldn't let her down.

"That was the worst part actually," she murmured against his shirt. He let her go so she could elaborate.

"I couldn't talk about it with anyone other than Jose, but he didn't want to talk about it."

She stopped, eyes cast downward. It was the first time she'd uttered her husband's name to Christian, and it felt wrong. She treaded carefully, not wanting to betray their shared journey, but she had already invited Christian on this path too, so she pressed ahead.

"Jose, my husband," she said quietly. Christian knew whom she was referring to, his breathing suddenly strained.

"He did everything he could to be there for me, but he didn't know how to handle our loss, let alone me. He would rush out to the store at 2 a.m. if I needed gummy bears or an ovulation kit, but he grew antsy if I spent more than five minutes talking about anything pregnancy-related. But infertility requires talking — an endless amount of it. The details and decision-making it entails are mind numbing. Jose hit a wall and was sick of discussing it.

"At least, though, with the infertility treatments we felt somewhat proactive. But the two lost pregnancies cemented the rift between us. His instinct was always to fix things, but this was unfixable. So he figured why dwell on something that couldn't be changed, whereas I needed to get it out so it would stop festering inside of me, so that I could be free from it. To this day, I have no idea what he thought about any of the pregnancies — he was too scared to upset me to ever reveal his true feelings. Maybe it's innately difficult for men because they're not natural-born talkers, or because it's not their bodies so they can't relate to it," she speculated.

"Anyway, I don't blame him. Everyone handles grief differently and I sure as hell wasn't picture-perfect about it. I would whine that he was ignoring me and then lash out when he did try to comfort me. He couldn't win. But in the end I had no outlet. I felt trapped, so I turned all the anger and hate inward — or took it out on Jose. That kind of hate builds slowly, like acid eating away your insides. It dissolves all the good parts that made someone fall in love with you in the first place. And those parts never grow back.

"The third ectopic sucked the last bit of life in me that I'd managed to preserve, and there was nothing left for me to give Jose. When I woke up from surgery and saw his anguished face over mine, I knew it wasn't just my chances of conceiving that were over. My marriage was. His love was so strong but mine had withered, and it wasn't fair to keep putting him through my pain. Enough was enough.

"I had slowly broken him while he stood faithfully by my side, and then I left him."

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and for the first time since starting her elegy over an hour ago, Ana broke down and allowed herself to cry. "And I will go to my grave with that knowledge Christian," she choked out, shaking uncontrollably.

"Shhhh. I've got you baby. Shhhh," he cooed over and over again, folding her in his arms and in his unconditional acceptance.

They just stood there in their own bubble on the National Mall as Christian held her, his large, sturdy form engulfing hers like a statue — an invisible flurry of people going about their business around them. When she finished, dry heaves now wracking her body, Ana looked up and saw nothing but adoration.

"I got snot on your shirt," she sniffled.

"It's OK. I'll survive," he smiled, smoothing away the wisps of hair on her forehead and kissing her cheek, tasting the saltiness of her tears.

Her breathing calmer, she was finally ready to conclude her tale. "I won't get into our split," she sighed. "That's a sob story for another day. He's moved on. I'm happy for him — envious, of course, because I'm a petty person, but happy. He deserves everything I couldn't give him."

Christian's eyes blazed with an unnamed emotion. He had besieged her with questions all night but he had to know one last thing.

"Do you regret leaving him Ana?" he asked warily.

"No."

"It's over?"

"Yes."

And for the first time all week, Christian felt a surge of hope.


	20. Chapter 20: HIS TURN

**Author's Note:** First off, a sincere apology for not updating sooner and responding to everyone's kind reviews. I was fried after the last two chapters but also wonderfully overwhelmed by the amazing words of encouragement and sympathy I received, especially from FanFicFanWI, Christian618, CJFAA, Pielietje and Nicole2786 and all my faithful readers, including those who have experienced similar type of loss. It is not easy to talk about but it really should be, even if all people can do is listen, because so many go through it, so hopefully I made a small dent. This has been an interesting exercise in self-reflection since a lot of this is personal, so your notes really move me and have made this incredibly worthwhile.

Christian's story was harder to write since it's not based on reality, but I hope this does his character justice and gives some insights into what makes him tick. There is much more to come — and a few more secrets to reveal — but with real life interfering and the holidays approaching, the updates won't be as fast (probably every two weeks or so), but I think this ends on a temporary nice note.

Also, I decided to write a more traditional Ana-Christian fanfic, "Fifty Shades of Sacrifice," that I'll posting soon, so check that out as well.

And as always, please follow, review and pass along to your friends. I get a little frustrated with how many reviews and follows other fanfics get — not trying to knock em, but sometimes I really don't get it — so any help is appreciated. Enjoy!

 **CHAPTER 20: HIS TURN**

They walked arm in arm in companionable silence under the watchful eye of past presidents and America's founding fathers — Ana in a daze, Christian in love.

He was paradoxically sad for Ana's past, but excited for the future that he now envisioned with her.

For her part, Ana felt a contradictory mix of relief and shock. She exorcised three years' worth of bitterness and pain. She felt lighter, but also stunned by her hate-filled invective — and Christian's nonjudgmental acceptance of it. No one had ever listened to her with such patience. _They always either zone out or try to solve the unsolvable._

Ana was bowled over by his kindness — a kindness that she hadn't given him credit for. She abruptly turned toward Christian, taking both of his hands in hers as if they were standing in front of the altar. Perplexed, he just eyed her apprehensively, both of them jumping to the wrong conclusions.

 _Is she going to break up with me again?_

 _He probably thinks I'm going to spill my guts again._

"Thank you Christian," she began, searching for the words to convey the extent of her gratitude. Tears pricked the back of her eyes. "You allowed me to talk in a way no one ever has before. The truth is, no one has ever sat through my entire sordid ordeal — not even the damn psychiatrists I _pay_ to listen to me."

He was astonished. _How can anyone not want to hear what she has to say? I didn't even do anything._

"You just let me talk, which was so refreshing. People mean well but they always have this compulsion to give infertile women 'advice,' telling them to relax — you know, because that's so easy to do during the most stressful time of your life. Or not to worry because they know a friend of a friend who got pregnant at age 45. What they don't tell you is that 45-year-old probably used a 20-year-old's eggs because she has less than a 1% chance of getting preggers on her own. Or my personal favorite, acupuncture — like some fucking meditation or needles up my ass are going to reverse a clinically diagnosed medical condition!"

His snort was contagious and Ana found herself laughing as well, the small dose of comic relief strangely comforting.

"In all seriousness Christian, you helped rid me of demons I didn't even realize were still holding me hostage," her voice broke but she steeled herself and kept going. "Maybe they'll always have a hold on me, but their grip doesn't feel as suffocating. Thank you. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it, how much your kindness means to me, overwhelms me — overwhelming in a _good_ way."

Ana stood on her tiptoes to give Christian a chaste kiss on the lips, not wanting to cross the boundaries that she herself drew a week ago, but rewarded him with a fierce hug.

Christian felt light-headed and held onto _her_ for support. Ensconced in her arms, which barely wrapped around the length of his back, Christian found a solace that had eluded him for 37 years. He wanted more but kept to the box she had put him in.

"Do you still want children Ana?" he suddenly asked.

Her composure faltered. Christian automatically reached for her face, his large hands covering her cheeks as he stepped right outside that box again.

"You don't have to answer that Ana," he said, tenderly gliding his thumb across her furrowed brow. "I didn't mean to pry. God knows I've done enough of that already."

"No it's fine. I like talking to you," she replied. He swept a few tendrils of hair out of her eye and kissed her forehead, closing his eyes. That box was inching further and further away.

"Adoption is always the infertility fallback," she sighed as they started walking again. "We did all the informational meetings, but it's not as easy as people think. It's still someone else's child and you have to overcome that mental roadblock. I did right away after the miscarriage. I felt my baby had died. It no longer mattered whether the second one came out of me or not. Jose went along with it but I sensed his ambivalence — it was his obligation to me that motivated him, not a genuine desire to adopt a child. So it got put on the backburner and then became a moot point when my marriage ended.

"I know adoption is still technically an option, but truth be told, at this point I feel nothing but numbness toward every aspect of having a family."

Numbness — that was an emotion he could relate to.

"Do _you_ want children?" she asked, interrupting his morbid reverie.

"Not particularly," he replied matter-of-factly. "I never gave them much thought to be honest. I didn't exactly have a shining role model of a happy childhood, so marriage and parenting were always such foreign concepts to me. I'm sorry if that sounds insensitive after what you've been through."

"Not at all. It sounds real. Not everyone is destined for the 2.5-child nuclear family with a two-door garage. Remember what I said on the plane? Married, kids, childless, divorced, single — when things don't go as planned, you lose your preconceived notions of how people are _supposed_ to live their lives."

"I remember," he said fondly. "I haven't ruled them out altogether either but children never entered into my realm of possibility. Then again neither did commitment. Things change," he said, looking her straight in the eye.

Ana felt the scorch of his gaze, as if he were trying to worm a way into her mind — and heart. Desperate to switch gears, she deployed her patented diversion tactic. "Why didn't you have a happy childhood?"

She mentally slapped herself on the forehead and quickly backtracked. "Sorry that's such a loaded question. I didn't mean to intrude and you don't owe me a thing just because of what I told you. Please forget I mentioned it," she smiled, trying to lift the somber atmosphere that had once again descended over them.

Christian was pensive. On the one hand, he was ecstatic that she had bared a piece of her past with him, and he wanted to give her a piece of his in return, but he couldn't bring himself to dredge up the memory of his dead mother.

He refused to go down that rabbit hole again. After years of seesawing between rage and despair, he'd finally embraced a very simple, inescapable conclusion: It was done and she was gone. Nothing would bring her back and it was a waste of time to pine for a person who was six feet under. The numbness that washed over him at that epiphany sharpened his focus and helped him put his life back in order.

So instead he resurrected his father, the source of his wrath, and the trauma that shaped his life.

"My father, Carrick, was an asshole," Christian began, his voice devoid of any emotion other than resentment. "He married my mother, Grace, because of me. She was knocked up, and they both came from illustrious, old-world families — the kind where out-of-wedlock children aren't exactly welcomed with open arms. They probably would've forced her to get rid of me if it weren't for the fact that she was apparently pretty far along when she found out."

"I'm sorry Christian," she said, chewing her lip. Looking up at his moonlit features, she began to see a new side to him.

"So it wasn't exactly a fairytale romance. When I say my father was asshole, I'm not sugarcoating anything. He didn't have any redeeming qualities. He didn't love me, or her, and made that abundantly clear every day. He was just a low-down piece of human excrement."

The vitriol in his voice blindsided her and Ana nearly tripped, Christian catching her by the arm. "I'm sorry baby. I didn't mean to scare you. Are you OK?"

 _He's asking_ _ **me**_ _if I'm OK?_

Misty-eyed, she reached for his hand. "I'm good now," she smiled. He squeezed it back in gratitude before resuming his story.

"Anyway, my mother was young when she had me but her instincts kicked in once I was born and she loved me. My father gave me nothing but tough love. A smack on the head if I said something stupid. The belt if I talked back. Eventually, we both stopped speaking to him to save ourselves the hassle and bruises. Fortunately, the silence suited him just fine. Thank God for mistresses. He left us alone after a few years and I had a pretty decent childhood, just the two of us.

"We spent our Sundays listening to old Frank Sinatra and Miles Davis records. I felt somewhat responsible for her since she was on her own, so I didn't have a lot of friends growing up, but I enjoyed spending time with her. She taught me algebra, how to play blackjack, how to make a proper omelet. She told me that my future wife would appreciate homemade breakfasts," he reminisced, willing himself not to look at Ana at that very moment.

"But it was just a temporary haven. My father always lurked in the background, reappearing whenever we let our guard down. So when I was 12 my mother sent me away to school to get me out of his hair for good. She was alone after that and died a few years later," he said, his voice bleak.

Ana knew that whatever words of comfort she could offer would sound trite, so she gripped Christian's hand tightly as they traipsed through the grass, her thumb smoothing over his knuckles. She stared straight ahead, fighting to stave off the tears collecting in her eyes.

Christian knew she was crying without having to look at her. "It's alright baby. Don't be sad for me," he smiled, dropping a kiss in her hair.

She hiccupped a small giggle. "I'm supposed to be the one comforting you!"

"You do. More than you know," he whispered, treasuring her concern for him. "Besides, it's ancient history now. Long story short, it wasn't exactly the paradigm of a loving marriage."

"And yet you turned out to be so loving," she remarked off-handedly.

He swiveled his head around. No one had ever called him that before. Ana just examined the Capitol dome in the distance, unaware of the magnitude of what she had just said.

"What's that saying? God chose our family. Thank God we can choose our friends," she mused, trying to inject some levity into their somber walk.

"Truer words have never been spoken."

It didn't escape Ana's attention that Christian never mentioned how his mother had died. _I won't ask, but I don't want him to think I don't care either._

"What was she like?" she ventured hesitantly.

"My mother? She was a sweet woman, accommodating on the outside but strong-willed on the inside. She always treated me like an adult — told me we got dealt a crap hand when it came to my father but that's life. She didn't bullshit, much like someone else I know," he said, peering down at Ana. "And she took his punches, verbal and otherwise, like a champ, but it wore her down eventually. What was it you said — that infertility hollowed out your core? Well, it's like he carved out her insides slowly over the years with a dull spoon. By the time I went off to school, he had bled her spirit dry."

A sob caught in Ana's chest. She cleared it away and reached up to give Christian a solemn kiss on the cheek. "I'm so sorry that happened to her. She sounded like a beautiful soul."

Her simple tribute moved him, more than any long-winded obituary ever had.

"Thank you baby," he bent down to return the favor. "I appreciate that. She was. After her death, I went on a destructive bender in college. You name it, I overdid it. Drinking binges, pot, coke, sex with faceless women, fights with assholes. I was your stereotypical wreck."

Ana mulled over his words, but wasn't surprised by them. She figured someone wound up as tight as Christian had to have snapped at some point.

"It's funny how women and men confront tragedy and trauma so differently. Women tend to bottle everything up internally, beating themselves up, while men take their pain out externally. Depression versus aggression," she ruminated, drifting once again into the dark recesses of her mind, a place she hadn't visited in months.

He froze when the word depression came out of her mouth. _What does she know? What isn't she telling me?_

Ana felt Christian stiffen and quickly recomposed herself, motioning for him to keep walking. "That's a gross generalization I know. Not all men and women are like that. Just a random observation. So what happened? Something clearly altered the road you were on."

It was an innocent question, one that deserved the ugly truth.

"I was drunk one night and ran over a young girl. Her name was Anita."

All Christian heard were the sounds of cicadas chirping, Ana's sharp intake of breath and the thumping of his heart. She blindly put one foot in front of the other as dread churned in her stomach. _Oh my God did he kill someone?_ She was going to wretch.

"She was OK — a few broken ribs, busted leg, concussion. I could've killed her but I didn't," he quickly added to assuage her unspoken fear. Ana's heart started beating again. "Whatever I was high on at the time probably dulled my precision," he said grimly.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, still shell-shocked by his confession but grateful he didn't have any actual skeletons in his closet.

"She was 19, walking home from her shift as a food runner." Ana gave him a perfunctory nod, knowing the term from her days in the restaurant industry. "I was coming back from the bar. I would never have known I even hit something if it weren't for the blood blocking my view. I stumbled out, dazed, and made sure she was OK but didn't stick around. Instead I called my father like the coward that I was and left him — of all people — to clean up my mess. My father paid hers to hush the whole thing up, so I technically got away Scot-free."

His shame and revulsion were palpable. Christian rubbed the back of his neck. Ana extended her hand and massaged out the kinks, mirroring his actions from earlier. "I'm here for you Christian, just like you were there for me. You don't have to go on but you can. You know I won't ever judge you."

A ghost of a smile crept on his lips as he absorbed the truth of her declaration.

"It was funny, even though I suspect my father paid a hefty sum for her silence, of all things, me running over an innocent girl over was the one transgression in my life he didn't berate me for. Leaving a toy on the living room floor earned me a belting. But this — nothing. Anita was just a fly to be swatted away. The few times it did come up, he simply referred to her as 'that little bitch' — as if she somehow asked to get splattered across my windshield."

A chill ran down Ana's spine.

"I couldn't let it go though. I distinctly remember the way she lied there crumpled on the ground, her body strangely contorted. The pavement was wet from the rain the night before. In my haze of pot and bourbon, I still remember how the blood mixed with the brown mud to stain her otherwise white uniform. I idly thought how she'd have to buy a new one because that probably wouldn't wash out. Not that I'd know — I'd never done laundry before — but that visual was seared into my mind. It ate away at me until months later, I grew some balls and finally went to see her. She was in college by then, doing well by most measures."

They meandered around the deserted Franklin D. Roosevelt Memorial, the enclosed tactile reliefs and cover of darkness enveloping them in their own private world. Ana couldn't help but notice FDR's famous maxim engraved into the stone — "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself" — as Christian continued his story.

"I don't know what I wanted from her — absolution, peace of mind that she was OK, her fists hitting me. I figured she would be repulsed anyway and send me away. Some white preppy fucker who ran her over and whose rich dad bought her off was now coming to say, 'Oops sorry about that.' Instead of hate, though, she looked down on me with pity. She gave me her forgiveness, said she bore me no ill will and had moved on with her life and suggested that I do the same," he recalled, still in awe.

"She was better than me and she knew it. I was a monster."

"That's simply not true Christian. You're a good man. I feel it," Ana said, her tears flowing freely. She kissed his bicep, the gesture so poignant that it nearly brought him to his knees. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and tucked her back into his side — _where she belongs._

"Anyway, her fortitude broke through the walls I'd constructed after my mother's death. Here was this woman, working her ass off in a cruddy restaurant at night, coming off a 10-hour shift, only to be smashed onto the hood of an asshole's overpriced sports car. But she didn't crawl into a hole afterward. She used my selfishness to get an education and better herself.

"It made me realize that working-class people don't have the luxury of wallowing in their problems and self-pity. They just suck it up and go to work every day because they have a job and no other choice. That realization made me stop feeling sorry for myself and get my act together. If people could overcome daily hardships that I couldn't even possibly comprehend, then I could at least go to work every day too.

"So I figured out what I was good at — finance — knuckled down in college, stopped whining and started studying. I cut my father out of my life and quit the drugs, fighting and fucking — well, temporarily. I didn't become a monk," he winked, before turning serious again. "You said infertility made your world colorless. This made mine colorless as well, but that's precisely what I needed. I had too much color before, a whole fucking rainbow of it. I needed to weed out the superfluous shit. I needed a black-and-white funnel to give me clarity, to set my world on its axis.

"Looking back, I admit it was a lonely life , but it gave me the direction I needed to move forward. I survived because I nearly killed someone else."

"Don't put it that way Christian. She survived too, and you didn't crawl into a hole either. You bettered yourself and I'm proud of you," she whispered.

He gave her an obligatory grunt. Ana knew Christian didn't believe her but for once she wasn't going to argue the point.

"You really don't think I'm an irredeemable monster?" he asked unexpectedly. "My actions that night are inexcusable."

"Christian, you told me to stop thinking of myself as a failure. I'll agree, but on the condition that you stop this nonsense about you being a monster. Besides," she sighed heavily, "we're all irredeemable in one way or another."

He just stared down at her, confused by her morbid comment, but she didn't elaborate. Instead, she turned toward him and reached up to caress his cheek, the scruffy hairs of his goatee tickling her fingertips. He leaned into her touch, kissing the inside of her palm.

"You're many things, but you are neither a monster nor irredeemable. I think you're a wonderful, generous, smart, kind, complicated, courageous man and I'm so glad you're in my life."

Her penetrating gaze stripped him to the bone and he felt defenseless. Shorn of his wealth, looks, business acumen and urbane charm, he was dumbstruck by what she saw in him.

"I see all of you Christian," she answered his unspoken question. "And I need all of you in my life. I've just been too obstinate and scared of my own shadow to admit it," she said, pulling his head down to kiss him, the last of the barriers she'd erected crumbling.

"Ana," he groaned, wasting no time to lift her into an unyielding embrace, his tongue seeking entrance into her warmth after a week's separation. His lips sealed over hers, breathing in her essence. She tasted of raspberries, of acceptance, of salvation. Christian basked in her forgiveness and let all the love he felt pour out of him. The words were on the tip of his tongue, but it was too soon to release them. He didn't want to frighten her off like last time.

"Christian," she moaned into his mouth, reveling in the strong arms that had refused to let her go.

"I'm here. I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere," he assured her, kissing her with unabashed devotion before finally resting his forehead against hers as they both struggled to control their breathing.

"Can I ask you something?" Ana said out of the blue.

"Umm hmm," he nodded, still reeling from their reunion.

"Have you ever told that story to anyone else before?"

A faint smile touched his lips.

"No. Only you."

"Thank you."

"Thank _you_ Ana."

He rained kisses down on her lips, brow, nose and eyes before carefully setting her back on the ground. She gave him a shy smile, linking her arms with his and resting her head on his shoulder as they made their way back. No words were necessary, their profound moment of intimacy speaking for them.

When they reached the car, Ana finally broke the silence.

"Let's go home Christian."


End file.
